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Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Intention to Escape From Him

I think I will learn some beautiful language, useless for commercial
Purposes, work hard at that.
I think I will learn the Latin name of every songbird, not only in
America but wherever they sing.
(Shun meditation, though; invite the controversial:
Is the world flat? Do bats eat cats?) By digging hard I might
deflect that river, my mind, that uncontrollable thing,
Turgid and yellow, srong to overflow its banks in spring,
carrying away bridges
A bed of pebbles now, through which there trickles one clear
narrow stream, following a course henceforth nefast—
 
Dig, dig; and if I come to ledges, blast.

#AmericanWriters

Otras obras de Edna St. Vincent Millay...
Invocation to the Muses

Read by the poet at The Public C… of Arts and Letters at Carnegie… Great Muse, that from this hall a… Hast never been, Great Muse of Song,
The Return From Town

As I sat down by Saddle Stream To bathe my dusty feet there, A boy was standing on the bridge Any girl would meet there. As I went over Woody Knob
 1
The Leaf and the Tree

When will you learn, myself, to be a dying leaf on a living tree? Budding, swelling, growing strong, Wearing green, but not for long, Drawing sustenance from air,
Love Is Not All

Love is not all: it is not meat no… Nor slumber nor a roof against the… Nor yet a floating spar to men tha… And rise and sink and rise and sin… Love can not fill the thickened lu…
I, Being Born a Woman and Distressed

I, being born a woman and distress… By all the needs and notions of my… Am urged by your propinquity to fi… Your person fair, and feel a certa… To bear your body’s weight upon my…
Apostrophe to Man

Detestable race, continue to expun… Breed faster, crowd, encroach, sin… Make speeches, unveil statues, iss… Convert again into explosives the… Convert again into putrescent matt…
 3
Landscape, by John Martin
Afternoon on a Hill

I will be the gladdest thing Under the sun! I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one. I will look at cliffs and clouds
 1
 2
Farmhouse in Provence, by Vincent van Gogh
Well, I have lost you

Well, I have lost you; and I lost… In my own way, and with my full co… Say what you will, kings in a tumb… Went to their deaths more proud th… Some nights of apprehension and ho…
 2
Passer Mortuus Est

Death devours all lovely things; Lesbia with her sparrow Shares the darkness,—presently Every bed is narrow. Unremembered as old rain
Sonnet 04: Not in This Chamber Only at my Birth

Not in this chamber only at my bir… When the long hours of that myster… Were over, and the morning was in… I cried, but in strange places, st… I have not seen, through alien gri…
Sonnets 05: Once More into my Arid Days Like Dew

Once more into my arid days like d… Like wind from an oasis, or the so… Of cold sweet water bubbling under… A treacherous messenger, the thoug… Comes to destroy me; once more I…
If Still Your Orchards Bear

Brother, that breathe the August… Ten thousand years from now, And smell—if still your orchards b… Tart apples on the bough— The early windfall under the tree,
Conscientious Objector

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for D… I hear him leading his horse out o… I hear the clatter on the barn-flo… He is in haste; he has business in…
To Those Without Pity

Cruel of heart, lay down my song, Your reading eyes have done me wro… Not for you was the pen bitten, And the mind wrung, and the song w…
Indifference

I said,—for Love was laggard, O,… “I’ll hear his step and know his s… bed; But I’ll never leave my pillow, t… As would let him in—and take him i…



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