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

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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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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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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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Night falls fast. Today is in the past.
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They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don't think it's possible for you to miss me as much as I'm missing you right now
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To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough.
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Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.
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What the customer demands is last year's model, cheaper. To find out what the customer needs you have to understand what the customer is doing as well as he understands it. Then you build what he needs and you educate him to the fact that he needs it.
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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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I am not afraid of lawyers as I used to be. They are lambs in wolves' clothing.
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Please don't think me negligent or rude. I am both, in effect, of course, but please don't think me either.
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But she was not made for any man, and she will never be all mine.
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If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.
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Should at that moment the full moon Step forth upon the hill, And memories hard to bear at noon, By moonlight harder still, Form in the shadows of the trees, - Things that you could not spare And live, or so you thought, yet these All gone, and you still there, A man no longer what he was, Not yet the thing he planned.
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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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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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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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Not poppy, nor mandrake, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, Which thou owest yesterday.
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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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Life has no friend.
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