We Talk Of Taxes, And I Call You Friend

Edna St. Vincent Millay

We talk of taxes, and I call you friend;
Well, such you are,—but well enough we know
How thick about us root, how rankly grow
Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend,
That flourish through neglect, and soon must send
Perfume too sweet upon us and overthrow
Our steady senses; how such matters go
We are aware, and how such matters end.
Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;
With lovers such as we forevermore
Isolde drinks the draught, and Guinevere
Receives the Table’s ruin through her door,
Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,
Lets fall the colored book upon the floor.

Next 10 Poems

• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Weeds
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : When I Too Long Have Looked Upon Your Face
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : When The Year Grows Old
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Wild Swans
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Witch-wife
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Wraith
• Joaquin Miller : At The Grave Of Walker
• Joaquin Miller : By The Pacific Ocean
• Joaquin Miller : Columbus
• Joaquin Miller : Crossing The Plains

Previous 10 Poems

• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Travel
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : To The Not Impossible Him
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : To S. M.
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : To Kathleen
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : To A Poet That Died Young
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Time Does Not Bring Relief; You All Have Lied
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Thursday
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Three Songs Of Shattering
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Thou Art Not Lovelier Than Lilacs,-no
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : The Unexplorer