The mind, at length bereftOf thinking and its pain,Will soon disperse again,And nothing will remain:No, not a thing be left.Only the ardent eye,Only the listening earCan say, “The thrush was here!”Can say, “His song was clear!”Can live, before it die.

The mind, at length bereftOf thinking and its pain,Will soon disperse again,And nothing will remain:No, not a thing be left.Only the ardent eye,Only the listening earCan say, “The thrush was here!”Can say, “His song was clear!”Can live, before it die.

– Edna St. Vincent Millay –

Mine the Harvest

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