Elaine

        OH, come again to Astolat!
            I will not ask you to be kind.
        And you may go when you will go,
            And I will stay behind.

        I will not say how dear you are,
            Or ask you if you hold me dear,
        Or trouble you with things for you
            The way I did last year.

        So still the orchard, Lancelot,
            So very still the lake shall be,
        You could not guess--though you should guess--
            What is become of me.

        So wide shall be the garden-walk,
            The garden-seat so very wide,
        You needs must think--if you should think--
            The lily maid had died.

        Save that, a little way away,
            I'd watch you for a little while,
        To see you speak, the way you speak,
            And smile,--if you should smile.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

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Edna St. Vincent Millay

Ode To Silence

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Simple Poetry

When The Year Grows Old

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Simple Poetry

Portrait by a Neighbor

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Simple Poetry

Elegy Before Death

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Ode To Silence

            Aye, but she?
            Your other sister and my other soul
            Grave Silence, lovelier
            Than the three loveliest maidens, what of her?
            Clio, not you,
            Not you, Calliope,
            Nor all your wanton line,
            Not Beauty's perfect self shall comfort me
            For Silence once departed,
            For her the cool-tongued, her the tranquil-hearted,
            Whom evermore I follow wistfully,
        Wandering Heaven and Earth and Hell and the four seasons through;
        Thalia, not you,
        Not you, Melpomene,
        Not your incomparable feet, O thin Terpsichore,
        I seek in this great hall,
        But one more pale, more pensive, most beloved of you all.
        I se...

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Alms

        My heart is what it was before,
            A house where people come and go;
        But it is winter with your love,
            The sashes are beset with snow.

        I light the lamp and lay the cloth,
            I blow the coals to blaze again;
        But it is winter with your love,
            The frost is thick upon the pane.

        I know a winter when it comes:
            The leaves are listless on the boughs;
        I watched your love a little while,
            And brought my plants into the house.

        I water them and turn them south,
            I snap the dead brown from the stem;
        But it is winter with your love,--
            I only tend and water them.

        There was a time I stood and watc...

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Rosemary

        For the sake of some things
            That be now no more
        I will strew rushes
            On my chamber-floor,
        I will plant bergamot
            At my kitchen-door.

        For the sake of dim things
            That were once so plain
        I will set a barrel
            Out to catch the rain,
        I will hang an iron pot
            On an iron crane.

        Many things be dead and gone
            That were brave and gay;
        For the sake of these things
            I will learn to say,
        "An it please you, gentle sirs,"
            "Alack!" and "Well-a-day!"

Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Philosopher

And what are you that, wanting you
    I should be kept awake
As many nights as there are days
    With weeping for your sake?

And what are you that, missing you,
    As many days as crawl
I should be listening to the wind
    And looking at the wall?

I know a man that's a braver man
    And twenty men as kind,
And what are you, that you should be
    The one man in my mind?

Yet women's ways are witless ways,
    As any sage will tell,--
And what am I, that I should love
    So wisely and so well?

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Journey

        Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
        And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
        Blow over me--I am so tired, so tired
        Of passing pleasant places!    All my life,
        Following Care along the dusty road,
        Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;
        Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
        Tugged ever, and I passed.    All my life long
        Over my shoulder have I looked at peace;
        And now I fain would lie in this long grass
        And close my eyes.
            Yet onward!
                        Cat birds call
        Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk
        Are guttural.    Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,
        Drawing the twilight close about their throats.
        Only my he...

Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Poet And His Book

        Down, you mongrel, Death!
            Back into your kennel!
        I have stolen breath
            In a stalk of fennel!
        You shall scratch and you shall whine
            Many a night, and you shall worry
            Many a bone, before you bury
        One sweet bone of mine!

        When shall I be dead?
            When my flesh is withered,
        And above my head
            Yellow pollen gathered
        All the empty afternoon?
            When sweet lovers pause and wonder
            Who am I that lie thereunder,
        Hidden from the moon?

        This my personal death?--
            That lungs be failing
        To inhale the breath
            Others are exhaling?
        This my subtle spirit...

Edna St. Vincent Millay