Quote

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.

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
Facts
Hour
Gifted
Leech
Enough
Wisdom
Fabric
Unquestioned
Dark
Falls
Leeches
Hours
Ill
Loom
Age
Educational
Weave
Lying
Exists
Spun
Upon
Daily
Shower
Fall
Sky
Showers

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She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
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All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.
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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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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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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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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.
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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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We think-although of course, now, we very seldom Clearly think- That the other side of War is Peace.
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Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain-- Dawn will find them still again This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start.
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Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.
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And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
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I know, but I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
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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.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Progress-progress is the dirtiest word in the language-who ever told us- And made us believe it-that to take a step forward was necessarily, was always A good idea?
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Stranger, pause and look From the dust of ages Lift this little book, Turn the tattered pages, Read me, do not let me die! Search the fading letters finding Steadfast in the broken binding All that once was I!
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It's not true that life is one damn thing after another it is one damn thing over and over.
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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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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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If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.
Edna St. Vincent Millay