Tea and Poetry

For if I could please myself I would always
live as I lived there. I would choose always to
breakfast at exactly eight and to be at my desk
by nine, there to read or write till one. If a cup
of good tea or coffee could be brought to me
about eleven, so much the better. Tea should be
taken in solitude.
— C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

Afternoon on a Hill
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
and then start down!

The Little Ghost by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Little Ghost

I knew her for a little ghost

That in my garden walked;

The wall is high — higher than most

And the green gate was locked.

And yet I did not think of that

Till after she was gone —

I knew her by the broad white hat,

All ruffled, she had on.

By the dear ruffles round her feet,

By her small hands that hung

In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,

Her gown’s white folds among.

I watched to see if she would stay,

What she would do — and oh!

She looked as if she liked the way

I let my garden grow!

She bent above my favourite mint

With conscious garden grace,

She smiled and smiled — there was no hint

Of sadness in her face.

She held her gown on either side

To let her slippers show,

And up the walk she went with pride,

The way great ladies go.

And where the wall is built in new

And is of ivy bare

She paused — then opened and passed through

A gate that once was there.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay