Two poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay today.
The first is playful, it sounds like a chant you might make running through the woods, or when making magic wands.
The second is a stark contrast despite the similar sense of enumeration. It holds the sadness and determination I normally think of when her name pops up. (The first poem of hers I ever read was Conscientious Objector, so that set the tone.)