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I am all the time talking about you, and bragging, to one person or another. I am like the Ancient Mariner, who had a tale in his heart he must unfold to all. I am always buttonholing somebody and saying, Someday you must meet my mother.

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
Time
Talking
Tale
Like
Mother
Someday
Another
Tales
Persons
Ancient
Person
Daughter
Mariner
Must
Meet
Mariners
Heart
Somebody
Unfold
Always
Saying
Bragging

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I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
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Life must go on I forget just why.
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Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.
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Evil alone has oil for every wheel.
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If ever I said in grief or pride, I'd tired of honest things, I lied.
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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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Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
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I make bean stalks, I'm A builder, like yourself.
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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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Lord I do fear / Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.
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Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note In me a beauty that was never mine, How first you knew me in a book I wrote, How first you loved me for a written line.
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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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The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while.
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I am not a tentative person. Whatever I do, I give up my whole self to it.
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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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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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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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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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I love humanity but I hate people.
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What should I be but just what I am?
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