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Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare. Let all who prate of Beauty hold their peace, And lay them prone upon the earth and cease To ponder on themselves, the while they stare At nothing, intricately drawn nowhere.

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
Beauty
Nowhere
Prate
Upon
Drawn
Intricately
Peace
Staring
Euclid
Earth
Lays
Ponder
Nothing
Cease
Prone
Looked
Pondering
Hold
Stare
Alone
Bare

More quotes by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before
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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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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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Beautiful as a dandelion-blossom, golden in the green grass, This life can be. Common as a dandelion-blossom, beautiful in the clean grass, not beautiful Because common, beautiful because beautiful, Noble because common, because free.
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Beauty is whatever gives joy.
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That is my being, the madness of an unaccustomed mood.
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I know, but I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
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What terrible fear causes Man to address the Void as Thou?
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That which has quelled me, lives with me, Accomplice in catastrophe.
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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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Time can make soft that iron wood.
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My candle burns at both ends it will not last the night but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - it gives a lovely light!
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Not for the flag Of any land because myself was born there Will I give up my life. But I will love that land where man is free, And that will I defend.
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Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
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Love is not all it is not meat nor drink.
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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 am not afraid of lawyers as I used to be. They are lambs in wolves' clothing.
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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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The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while.
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After the feet of beauty fly my own.
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