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Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.

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
Awhile
Weep
Guess
Mean

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You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It’s only that.
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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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Upon this gifted age, in its dark hour falls from the sky a meteoric shower of facts They lie unquestioned, uncombined. Wisdom enough to leech us of our ill is daily spun, But there exists no loom to weave it into fabric.
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I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
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When you are corn and roses and at rest I shall endure, a dense and sanguine ghost To haunt the scene where I was happiest To bend above the thing I loved the most
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Heap not on this mound roses that she loved so well why bewilder her with roses that she cannot see or smell.
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Parrots, tortoises and redwoods live a longer life than men do Men a longer life than dogs do Dogs a longer life than love does.
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And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
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Pour away despair and rinse the cup. Eat happiness like bread.
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Cut if you will with sleep's dull knife, the years from off your life, my friend! the years that death takes off my life, he'll take from off the other end!
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That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.
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It's little I know what's in my heart,What's in my mind it's little I know,But there's that in me must up and start,And it's little I care where my feet go.
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Music my rampart, and my only one.
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To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough.
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A person who publishes a book appears willfully in public eye with his pants down.
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Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and sink and rise and sink again Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone Yet many a man is making friends with death Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
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Although we sometimes did without a few of life's necessities, we rarely lacked for its luxuries.
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This have I known always: Love is no more than the wide blossom which the wind assails, than the great tide that treads the shifting shore, strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales Pity me that the heart is slow to learn, that the swift mind beholds at every turn.
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Let us not forget such words, and all they mean, as hatred, bitterness, and rancor greed, intolerance, bigotry let us renew our faith and pledge to man, his right to be himself and free.
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