Poetry

God's World 

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! 

Thy winds, thy wide gray skies! 

Thy mists that roll and rise! 

Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag 

And all but cry with color! 

That gaunt crag To crush! 

To lift the lean of that black bluff! 

World, World, I cannot get thee close enough! 

Long have I known a glory in it all, 

But never knew I this: 

Here such a passion is 

As stretcheth me apart—

Lord, I do fear

 Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year; 

My soul is all but out of me—let fall 

No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call. 

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1913