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That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.

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
Unaccustomed
Madness
Mood

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What terrible fear causes Man to address the Void as Thou?
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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 am not a tentative person. Whatever I do, I give up my whole self to it.
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And all the loveliest things there be come simply, so it seems to me.
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Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.
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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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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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When I can make Of ten small words a rope to hang the world! I had you and I have you now no more.
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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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Need we say it was not love, Now that love is perished?
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Cut if you will with sleep's dull knife, the years from off your life, my friend! the years that death takes off my life, he'll take from off the other end!
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Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
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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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I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.
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Strange how few, After alls said and done, the things that are Of moment.
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Beauty never slumbers All is in her name But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.
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Beauty is whatever gives joy.
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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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Not Truth, but Faith it is that keeps the world alive.
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Music my rampart, and my only one.
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