It's Tea Time!
Tea!
Mint (my favorite!)
Mint Rose White Tea
Raspberry (this is gooood)
Mango
Orange Pekoe
Earl Grey
Darjeeling
Blueberry
Mint (my favorite!)
Mint Rose White Tea
Raspberry (this is gooood)
Mango
Orange Pekoe
Earl Grey
Darjeeling
Blueberry
Sweets!
Chocolate scones
Sundaes
Brownies
Petite Fours (if only I could afford them)
Chocolate scones
Sundaes
Brownies
Petite Fours (if only I could afford them)
The End
Teatime Menu
"Exiled"
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people
Sick of the city, wanting the sea;
Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness
Of the strong wind and shattered spray;
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
Of the big surf that breaks all day.
Always before about my dooryard,
Marking the reach of the winter sea,
Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,
Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;
Always I climbed the wave at morning,
Shook the sand from my shoes at night,
That now am caught beneath great buildings,
Stricken with noise, confused by light.
If I could hear the green piles groaning
Under the windy wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
And the black sticks that fence the weirs.
If I could see the weedy mussels
Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,
Feel once again the shanty straining
Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
Dread the bell in the fog outside -
I should be happy - that was happy
All day long on the coast of Maine!
I have a need to hold and handle
Shells and anchors and ships again!
I should be happy, that am happy
Never at all since I came here.
I am too long away from water.
I have a need of water near.
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people
Sick of the city, wanting the sea;
Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness
Of the strong wind and shattered spray;
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
Of the big surf that breaks all day.
Always before about my dooryard,
Marking the reach of the winter sea,
Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood,
Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea;
Always I climbed the wave at morning,
Shook the sand from my shoes at night,
That now am caught beneath great buildings,
Stricken with noise, confused by light.
If I could hear the green piles groaning
Under the windy wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
And the black sticks that fence the weirs.
If I could see the weedy mussels
Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
Overhead, of the wheeling gulls,
Feel once again the shanty straining
Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
Dread the bell in the fog outside -
I should be happy - that was happy
All day long on the coast of Maine!
I have a need to hold and handle
Shells and anchors and ships again!
I should be happy, that am happy
Never at all since I came here.
I am too long away from water.
I have a need of water near.
"The Little Ghost"
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I knew her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high - higher than most -
And the green gate was locked.
And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone -
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.
By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown's white folds among.
I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do - and oh!
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!
She bent above my favorite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled - there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.
She held her gown on either side
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.
And where the walk is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused - then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
I knew her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high - higher than most -
And the green gate was locked.
And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone -
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.
By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown's white folds among.
I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do - and oh!
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!
She bent above my favorite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled - there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.
She held her gown on either side
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.
And where the walk is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused - then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.
Tea and Poetry
