Category Edna St. Vincent Millay

What rider spurs him from the darkening eastAs from a forest, and with rapid poundOf hooves, now light, now louder on hard ground,Approaches, and rides past with speed increased,Dark spots and flecks of foam upon his beast?What shouts he from…

Felicity of Grief!—even Death being kind,Reminding us how much we dared to love!There, once, the challenge lay,—like a light gloveDropped as through carelessness—easy to findMeans and excuse for being somewhat blindJust at that moment; and why bend above,Take up, such…

Grief that is grief and properly so hightHas lodging in the orphaned brain alone,Whose nest is cold, whose wings are now his ownAnd thinly feathered for the perchless flightBetween the owl and ermine; overnightHis food is reason, fodder for the…

If I die solvent—die, that is to say,In full possession of my critical mind,Not having cast, to keep the wolves at bayIn this dark wood—till all be flung behind—Wit, courage, honor, pride, oblivionOf the red eyeball and the yellow tooth;Nor…

And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with youall through my life?—sharing my fire, my bed,Sharing—oh, worst of all things!—the same head?— And, when I feed myself, feeding you too?So be it, then, if what seems true, is true: Let…

Now sits the autumn cricket in the grass,And on the gravel crawls the chilly bee;Near to its close and none too soon for meDraws the dull year, in which has come to passThe changing of the happy child I wasInto…

My words that once were virtuous and expressedNearly enough the mortal joys I knew,Now that I sit to supper with the blestCome haltingly, are very poor and few.Whereof you speak and whereof the bright wallsResound with silver mirth I am…

Read History: thus learn how small a spaceYou may inhabit, nor inhabit longIn crowding Cosmos—in that confined placeWork boldly; build your flimsy barriers strong;Turn round and round, make warm your nest; amongThe other hunting beasts, keep heart and face,—Not to…

Read history: so learn your place in TimeAnd go to sleep: all this was done before;We do it better, fouling every shore;We disinfect, we do not probe, the crime.Our engines plunge into the seas, they climbAbove our atmosphere: We grow…

Come home, victorious wounded!—let the dead,The out-of-it, the more victorious still,Hold in the cold the hot-contested hill,Hold by the sand the abandoned smooth beach-head;—Maimed men, whose scars must be exhibitedTo all the world, though much against your will—And men whose…