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Read more poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay: Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems at Poetry X.

More poems by Edna St. Vincent MillayEdna St. Vincent Millay | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Edna St. Vincent MillayBooks by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Little Hill

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Oh, here the air is sweet and still,
And soft's the grass to lie on;
And far away's the little hill
They took for Christ to die on.

And there's a hill across the brook,
And down the brook's another;
But, oh, the little hill they took,—
I think I am its mother!

The moon that saw Gethsemane,
I watch it rise and set:
It has so many things to see,
They help it to forget.

But little hills that sit at home
So many hundred years,
Remember Greece, remember Rome,
Remember Mary's tears.

And far away in Palestine,
Sadder than any other,
Grieves still the hill that I call mine,—
I think I am its mother!

Added: 6 Oct 2002 | Last Read: 16 Jan 2018 9:45 PM | Viewed: 3600 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/7406/ | Viewed on 16 January 2018.
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