My heart, being hungry, feeds on food
The fat of heart despise
Beauty where beauty never stood
And sweet where no sweet lies
I gather to my querulous need
Having a growing heart to feed.
It may be, when my heart is dull,
Having attained its girth
I shall not find so beautiful
The meager shapes of earth
Nor linger in the rain to mark
The smell of tansy through the dark
~Edna St. Vincent Millay
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