Millay, Millay,

I saw you clad in your colourless plaid dress,

Ambling about those three islands in a fantastical bay,

The ones you spoke about when poetry found its renascence

Through your hands, which fed elegiac suns

Their share of glint and gold dust.

Millay, Millay,

I like to believe that the pigments of your dress escaped,

Only to seep into the roots of freedom a...

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