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Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

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Edna St. Vincent Millay
Age: 58 †
Born: 1892
Born: February 22
Died: 1950
Died: October 19
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Translator
Writer
Rockland
Maine
Nancy Boyd
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Never
Knew
Note
Would
Lines
Notes
Written
Wrote
Beauty
Mines
Forget
Mine
Firsts
Line
Book
Friend
First
Loved
Fain

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Euclid alone Has looked on Beauty bare. Fortunate they Who, though once only and then but far away, Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.
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Dust in an urn long since, dispersed and dead Is great Apollo and the happier he
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Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautiful Because common, beautiful because beautiful, Noble because common, because free.
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Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne's Lace.
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it may be said of me by Harper & Brothers, that although I reject their proposals, I welcome their advances.
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Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more! Thou hast mocked me, starved me, beat my body sore! And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me, I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparingly That I might eat again, and met thy sneers With deprecations, and thy blows with tears.
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I am not a tentative person. Whatever I do, I give up my whole self to it.
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I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity Came down and settled over me
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Love is not all it is not meat nor drink.
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I know, but I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
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You are loved. If so, what else matters?
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Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that but some place set apart for it.
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But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach, And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling, The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.
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Life has no friend.
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Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
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This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.
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A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him.
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And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
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I am all the time talking about you, and bragging, to one person or another. I am like the Ancient Mariner, who had a tale in his heart he must unfold to all. I am always buttonholing somebody and saying, Someday you must meet my mother.
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I make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.
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