Quote

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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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
Sweet
Drowsy
Shall
Syrup
Sleep
Poppies
Ever
Yesterday
World
Thou
Thee
Medicine
Flower
Poppy

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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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She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
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Please give me some good advice in your next letter. I promise not to follow it.
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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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Lord I do fear / Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
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After the feet of beauty fly my own.
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O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
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Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.
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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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Martyred many times must be Who would keep his country free.
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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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I have loved badly, loved the great Too soon, withdrawn my words too late And eaten in an echoing hall Alone and from a chipped plate The words that I withdrew too late.
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Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
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No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.
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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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And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
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I love humanity but I hate people.
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