No matter what I say,
       All that I really love
     Is the rain that flattens on the bay,
       And the eel-grass in the cove;
     The jingle-shells that lie and bleach
       At the tide-line, and the trace
     Of higher tides along the beach:
       Nothing in this place.


facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest

Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add EEL-GRASS to your own personal library.

Return to the Edna St. Vincent Millay Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; ELAINE

Anton Chekhov
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Susan Glaspell
Mark Twain
Edgar Allan Poe
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Herman Melville
Stephen Leacock
Kate Chopin
Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson