Explore "Count them Unclean" by Edna St. Vincent Millay on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Count them unclean, these tears that turn no mill, / This salty flux of sorrow from the heart; Count them unclean, and grant me one day still
To weep, in an avoided room apart. I shall come forth at length with reddened lid
Transparent, and thick mouth, and take the plough. That other men may hope, as I once did; That other men may weep, as I do now. I am beside you, I am at your back
Firing our bridges, I am in your van; I share your march, your hunger; all I lack
Is the sure song I cannot sing, you can. You think we build a world; I think we leave
Only these tools, wherewith to strain and grieve.