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All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.
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
Compassion
Along
Dusty
Care
Sighed
Back
Loveliness
Life
Generosity
Following
Road
Looked
More quotes by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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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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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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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It's not true that life is one damn thing after another it is one damn thing over and over.
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Love is not all it is not meat nor drink.
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A grave is such a quiet place.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Night falls fast. Today is in the past.
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You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It’s only that.
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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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Guess I'll weep awhile. Guess I won't, I mean.
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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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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
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Life must go on I forget just why.
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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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Youth, have no pity leave no farthing here For age to invest in compromise and fear.
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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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O troubled forms, O early love unfortunate and hard, Time has estranged you into a jewel cold and pure
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.
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A Poem from Edna St. Vincent Millay: Grown-up Was it for this I uttered prayers, And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs, That now, domestic as a plate, I should retire at half-past eight?
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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.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
