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I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.

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
Years
Unrequited
Seasons
Summer
Relationship
Full
Four
Year
Summertime
Heart
Infatuation

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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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That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.
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We were so wholly one I had not thought That we could die apart. I had not thought That I could move,—and you be stiff and still! That I could speak,—and you perforce be dumb! I think our heart-strings were, like warp and woof In some firm fabric, woven in and out Your golden filaments in fair design Across my duller fibre.
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My candle burns at both ends it will not last the night but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!
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I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.
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Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
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Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before
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A Poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was it for this I uttered prayers, And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, That now, domestic as a plate, I should retire at half-past eight?
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Lord I do fear / Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
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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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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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Cruel of heart, lay down my song. Your reading eyes have done me wrong. Not for you was the pen bitten, And the mind wrung, and the song written.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Oh, children, growing up to be Adventurers into sophistry, Forbear, forbear to be of those That read the rood to learn the rose.
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Love is not all it is not meat nor drink.
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She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
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I know, but I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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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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I am not at all in favor of hard work for its own sake many people who work very hard indeed produce terrible things, and should most certainly not be encouraged.
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And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
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The younger generation forms a country of its own. It has no geographical boundaries. I've talked with young Hungarians in Budapest, with young Italians in Rome, with young Frenchmen in Paris, and with young people all over. ... These young people are going to do things. They are going to change things.
Edna St. Vincent Millay