Poeticous Logo
fr
English Español Français Italiano
Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay

The True Encounter

“Wolf!” cried my cunning heart
At every sheep it spied,
And roused the countryside.
 
“Wolf! Wolf!”—and up would start
Good neighbours, bringing spade
And pitchfork to my aid.
 
At length my cry was known:
Therein lay my release.
I met the wolf alone
And was devoured in peace.

#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Women #XXCentury

Vous avez aimé cette lecture ? Offrez-nous un café !.
Votre aide nous permet d'exister.
Autres oeuvres par Edna St. Vincent Millay...
Night is my Sister, and How Deep in Love

Night is my sister, and how deep i… How drowned in love and weedily wa… There to be fretted by the drag an… At the tide’s edge, I lie—these t… Whose arm alone between me and the…
Mist in the Valley

These hills, to hurt me more, That am hurt already enough,— Having left the sea behind, Having turned suddenly and left th… That I had loved beyond all words…
She Is Overheard Singing

Oh, Prue she has a patient man, And Joan a gentle lover, And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-h… But my true love’s a rover! Mig, her man’s as good as cheese
The Fledgling

So, art thou feahered, art thou fl… Thou naked thing?—and canst alone Upon the unsolid summer air Sustain thyself, and prosper there… Shall no more with anxious note
The Singing-Woman From the Wood’s Edge

What should I be but a prophet an… Whose mother was a leprechaun, who… Teethed on a crucifix and cradled… What should I be but the fiend’s… And who should be my playmates but…
 1
 1
The Bean

Ho, Giant! This is I! I have built me a bean-stalk into… La,—but it’s lovely, up so high! This is how I came,—I put Here my knee, there my foot,
Scrub

If I grow bitterly, Like a gnarled and stunted tree, Bearing harshly of my youth Puckered fruit that sears the mout… If I make of my drawn boughs
When We Are Old and These Rejoicing Veins

When we are old and these rejoicin… Are frosty channels to a muted str… And out of all our burning their r… No feeblest spark to fire us, even… This be our solace: that it was no…
Three Songs of Shattering

The first rose on my rose-tree Budded, bloomed, and shattered, During sad days when to me Nothing mattered. Grief of grief has drained me clea…
Recuerdo

We were very tired, we were very m… We had gone back and forth all nig… It was bare and bright, and smelle… But we looked into a fire, we lean… We lay on the hill-top underneath…
Second Fig

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly… Come and see my shining palace bui…
Journey

Ah, could I lay me down in this l… And close my eyes, and let the qui… Blow over me—I am so tired, so ti… Of passing pleasant places! All m… Following Care along the dusty ro…
The Prisoner

ALL right, Go ahead! What’s in a name? I guess I’ll be locked into As much as I’m locked out of!
The Betrothal

Oh, come, my lad, or go, my lad, And love me if you like. I shall not hear the door shut Nor the knocker strike. Oh, bring me gifts or beg me gifts…
The Shroud

Death, I say, my heart is bowed Unto thine,—O mother! This red gown will make a shroud Good as any other! (I, that would not wait to wear



Haut