Quote

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

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
Thing
Corn
Ghost
Endure
Sanguine
Rose
Haunt
Scene
Dense
Rest
Bend
Loved
Roses
Shall
Happiest

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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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Time can make soft that iron wood.
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You are loved. If so, what else matters?
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One things there's no getting by, I've been a wicked girl, Says I... But, if I can't be sorry I might as well be glad !
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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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When I can make Of ten small words a rope to hang the world! I had you and I have you now no more.
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Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
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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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That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.
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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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Beauty never slumbers All is in her name But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.
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April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
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I will come back to you, I swear I will And you will know me still. I shall be only a little taller Than when I went.
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Pour away despair and rinse the cup. Eat happiness like bread.
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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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Beauty in all things-no, we cannot hope for that but some place set apart for it.
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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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O troubled forms, O early love unfortunate and hard, Time has estranged you into a jewel cold and pure
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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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If I love you Wednesday, What is that to you? I do not love you Thursday - so much is true.
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