Collected Poems
Page 32
Oh, little rose tree, bloom!,
Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this,
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!,
Peaceful and slow, peaceful and slow,
The Pear Tree,
The Penitent,
People that build their houses inland,
Peril upon the paths of this desire,
The Philosopher,
The Pigeons,
Pile high the hickory and the light,
Pity me not because the light of day,
The Plaid Dress,
The Plum Gatherer,
Poem and Prayer for an Invading Army,
The Poet and His Book,
The Pond,
Poor dying thing: it was my dog, not I,
Portrait,
Portrait by a Neighbour,
Precious in the light of the early sun the Housatonic,
Pretty Love, I Must Outlive You,
Pretty Love, I must outlive you,
Oh, Prue she has a patient man,
Oh, sleep forever in the Latmian cave,
Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow!,
Oh, what a shining town were Death,
Olympian gods, mark now my bedside lamp,
On First Having Heard the Sky-lark,
On the Wide Heath,
On the wide heath at evening over-taken,
On Thought in Harness,
Once from a big, big building,
Once more into my arid days like dew,
One way there was of muting in the mind,
Only the diamond and the diamond’s dust,
Only until this cigarette is ended,
Over and over I have heard,
The Parsi Woman,
Passer Mortuus Est,
Pastoral,
The Princess Recalls Her One Ad-venture,
Pueblo Pot,
Put it down! I say; put it down,— here, give it to me, I know,
The Rabbit,
Ragged Island,
Read history: so learn your place in Time,
Read history: thus learn how small a space,
Recuerdo,
Renascence,
Rendezvous,
The Return,
The Return from Town,
The Road to Avrillé,
The Road to the Past,
Rosemary,
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand,
Sappho Crosses the Dark River into Hades,
Say that We Saw Spain Die,
Say that we saw Spain die. O splendid bull, how well you fought!,
Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find,
Scrub,
Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
Second Fig,
See how these masses mill and swarm,
See where Capella with her golden kids,
Seeing how I love you utterly,
Set the foot down with distrust upon the crust of the world—it is thin,
Shall I be prisoner till my pulses stop,
Shall I despise you that your colourless tears,
She filled her arms with wood, and set her chin,
She had a horror he would die at night,
She had forgotten how the August night,
She is neither pink· nor pale,
She Is Overheard Singing,
She let them leave their jellies at the door,
Peaceful and slow, peaceful and slow,
The Pear Tree,
The Penitent,
People that build their houses inland,
Peril upon the paths of this desire,
The Philosopher,
The Pigeons,
Pile high the hickory and the light,
Pity me not because the light of day,
The Plaid Dress,
The Plum Gatherer,
Poem and Prayer for an Invading Army,
The Poet and His Book,
The Pond,
Poor dying thing: it was my dog, not I,
Portrait,
Portrait by a Neighbour,
Precious in the light of the early sun the Housatonic,
Pretty Love, I Must Outlive You,
Pretty Love, I must outlive you,
Oh, Prue she has a patient man,
Oh, sleep forever in the Latmian cave,
Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow!,
Oh, what a shining town were Death,
Olympian gods, mark now my bedside lamp,
On First Having Heard the Sky-lark,
On the Wide Heath,
On the wide heath at evening over-taken,
On Thought in Harness,
Once from a big, big building,
Once more into my arid days like dew,
One way there was of muting in the mind,
Only the diamond and the diamond’s dust,
Only until this cigarette is ended,
Over and over I have heard,
The Parsi Woman,
Passer Mortuus Est,
Pastoral,
The Princess Recalls Her One Ad-venture,
Pueblo Pot,
Put it down! I say; put it down,— here, give it to me, I know,
The Rabbit,
Ragged Island,.
Read history: so learn your place in Time,
Read history: thus learn how small a space,
Recuerdo,
Renascence,
Rendezvous,
The Return,
The Return from Town,
The Road to Avrillé,
The Road to the Past,
Rosemary,
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand,
Sappho Crosses the Dark River into Hades,
Say that We Saw Spain Die,
Say that we saw Spain die. O splendid bull, how well you fought!,
Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find,
Scrub,
Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
Second Fig,
See how these masses mill and swarm,
See where Capella with her golden kids,
Seeing how I love you utterly,
Set the foot down with distrust upon the crust of the world—it is thin,
Shall I be prisoner till my pulses stop,
Shall I despise you that your colourless tears,
She filled her arms with wood, and set her chin,
She had a horror he would die at night,
She had forgotten how the August night,
She is neither pink nor pale,
She Is Overheard Singing,
She let them leave their jellies at the door,
Then cautiously she pushed the cellar door,
There as I bent above the broken pot from the mesa pueblo,
There at Dusk I Found You,
There at dusk I found you, walking and weeping,
There is a well into whose bottomless eye,
There it was I saw what I shall never forget,
There was a road ran past our house,
There was upon the sill a pencil mark,
There where the woodcock his long bill among the alders,
There will be rose and rhododendron,
There, there where those black spruces crowd,
These hills, to hurt me more,
These wet rocks where the tide has been,
They must not go alone,
“Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,
Think not I have not heard,
Think not, nor for a moment let your mind,
This,
This beast that rends me in the sight of all,
This door your might not open, and you did,
This Dusky Faith,
This 1 do, being mad,
This is mine, and I can hold it,
This should be simple; if one’s power were great,
Those hours when happy hours were my estate,
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,—no,
Thou fami
shed grave, I will not fill thee yet,
Thou great offended God of love and kindness,
Thou sinful Soul, how wilt thou feel,
Though less for love than for the deep,
Three Songs from “The Lamp and the Bell,”
Three Songs of Shattering,
Through the Green Forest,
Through the green forest softly without a sound,
Thursday,
Time cannot break the bird’s wing from the bird,
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied,
Time, that is pleased to lengthen out the day,
To a Calvinist in Bali,
To a Friend Estranged from Me,
To a Musician,
To a Poet that Died Young,
To a Snake,
To a Young Girl,
To a Young Poet,
To Elinor Wylie,
To hold secure the province of Pure Art,
To Kathleen,
To One Who Might Have Borne a Message,
To S. M.,
To S. V. B.—June 15, 1940,
To the Maid of Orleans,
To the Not Impossible Him,
130 To the Wife of a Sick Friend,
To Those Without Pity,
To what purpose, April, do you return again?,
To whom the house of Montagu,
Tranquility at length, when autumn comes,
Travel,
Tree Ceremonies,
Tristan,
Truce for a Moment,
Truce for a moment between Earth and Ether,
Truck-Garden Market-Day,
The True Encounter,
Twice having seen your shingled heads adorable,
Two Voices,
Underground System,
The Unexplorer,
Upon this age, that never speaks its mind,
Upon this marble bust that is not I,
Valentine,
A Visit to the Asylum,
Was it for this I uttered prayers,
We have gone too far; we do not know how to stop: impetus,
We talk of taxes, and I call you friend,
We were very tired, we were very merry—,
Weeds,
Weep him dead and mourn as you may,
Well I remember the pigeons in the sunny arbour,
Well, I have lost you; and I lost your fairly,
West Country Song,
What chores these churls do put upon the great,
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
What rider spurs him from the darkening east,
What Savage Blossom,
What should I be but a prophet and a liar,
What thing is this that, built of salt and lime,
What’s this of death, from you who never will die?,
When Caesar Fell,
When Caesar fell, where yellow Tiber rolls,
When Death was young and bleaching bones were few,
When did I ever deny, though this was fleeting,
When I think of the little children learning,
When I too long have looked upon your face,
When It Is Over,
When it is over—-for it will be over,
When Man is gone and only gods re-main,
When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
When the tree-sparrows with no sound through the pearl-pale air,
When the Year Grows Old,
When we are old and these rejoicing veins,
When we that wore the myrtle wear the dust,
When will you learn, my self, to be,
When you are dead, and your disturbing eyes,
When you, that at this moment are to me,
Where can the heart be hidden in the ground,
Where is he now, in his soiled shirt reeking of garlic,
Whereas at morning in a jeweled crown,
White sky, over the hemlocks bowed with snow,
White with daisies and red with sorrel,
Who hurt you so,
Who, now, when evening darkens the water and the stream is dull,
Why do you follow me?,
Why, then, weep not,
Wild Swans,
Wild-cat, gnat and I,
Wine from These Grapes,
Wine from these grapes I shall be treading surely,
Winter Night,
Witch-Wife,
“Wolf!” cried my cunning heart,
Women have loved before as I love now,
The Wood Road,
Wraith,
Yet in an hour to copie, disdainful dust,
Yet in the end, defeated too, worn out and ready to fall,
You loved me not at all, but let it go,
You say: “Since life is cruel enough at best;”,
You that are sprung of northern stock,
You will not haunt the rue Vavin,
Your face is like a chamber where a king,
Photos, Letters & More . . .
About the book
“Night Is My Sister”: Edna St. Vincen Millay and the Poetry of Nature
About the author
Millay’s Preface to Distressing Dialogi
A Selection of Letters
A Selection of Photographs
Read on
Recommended Reading
The Edna St. Vincent Millay Society
About the book
“Night Is My Sister”
Edna St. Vincent Millay
and the Poetry of Nature
By Holly Peppe
OPEN ANY BOOK of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poems at random and you’re certain to find a reference to nature: natural phenomena, and the natural course of events, provided a context for the poet’s changing feelings, situations, and moods. Whatever her subject—love, loss, faith, patriotism, war, or personal freedom—nature and its archetypes endured for her; nature structured her world. With its predictable, seasonal cycles of life and death, growth and decay, nature offered Millay a rich source for imagery and symbolism and served as an organizing principle in her poetry and in her life.
Many of Millay’s early lyrics are hymns exalting nature’s grandeur: “O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! / Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!” In “Renascence,” the visionary poem that launched her career, the poet’s spiritual crisis is intensified by her passionate devotion to nature and her unwillingness to leave the beauty of the earth behind. In an allegorical “Journey” through life, written at age twenty-one, she finds herself “following Care along the dusty road,” beckoned by the sounds of birds and “creeks at dusk,” welcomed by “eager vines” and “flushed apple-trees.” Though the path is difficult, she rejoices that as “far as passionate eye can reach, /.. . / The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, / Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road.”
Nature serves as Millay’s touchstone for happiness—“I will be the gladdest thing / Under the sun! /I will touch a hundred flowers / And not pick one”—and for sorrow—“Dark, Dark, is all I find for metaphor.” In “Bean-stalk,” she portrays the precarious but thrilling process of writing a poem as a dizzying climb up a beanstalk into the “light so sheer and sunny” that even the “little dirty city” appears “dazzling bright and pretty.” Yet her youthful exuberance is tempered by the reality that nature shows no regard for human loss or grief. Of her lost beloved, she writes, “There will be rose and rhododendron / When you are dead and under ground; /.. . I Spring will not ail nor autumn falter; / Nothing will know that you are gone.”
Millay traced her devotion to nature to her childhood on the Maine coast, where she and her two younger sisters, Norma and Kathleen, spent hours by the sea and learned the names of flowers, plants, and medicinal herbs from their mother, Cora, a private nurse who used the herbs to treat her patients. Even as a child, Millay was moved by “the grapevine growing over the grey rock—the shock / Of beauty seen, noticed, for the first time—”
After gr
aduating from Vassar in 1917, she moved to New York, where her writing career flourished, despite her preference for traditional poetic form over the Modernist tendencies of the day. Hailed as “America’s Poet of the Future” by the New York
Times, she lived as a free spirit—bohemian in lifestyle, progressive in her convictions about women’s rights and social equality, and noncommittal with her many suitors. Yet in private moments she longed to return to the coast of Maine: “I am weary of words and people,” she wrote, “sick of the city, wanting the sea.”
In 1923, Edna St. Vincent Millay became the first woman to receive the Pulitzer Prize in poetry. That same year, at a house party with her writer friends, she was paired in a dramatic skit with Eugen Boissevain, a Dutch merchant she had met briefly in 1918 after the death of his wife, the suffrage leader Inez Milholland. The skit, which featured Millay and Eugen as a couple in love, soon translated into reality and they were married within a few months. In Eugen, Millay had found a soul mate who shared her deep emotional bond with nature. In her first poem dedicated to him, she wrote: “I am in love with him to whom a hyacinth is dearer / Than I shall ever be dear.”
In 1925, after a honeymoon tour around the world, Millay and Eugen purchased a seven-hundred-acre berry farm in Austerlitz, New York, naming it Steepletop after the steeplebush, a pink flowering shrub that grew wild in the hills and meadows around the farmhouse. Over the next several years, in transforming the house and property to suit their own tastes and whims, they planted herb, flower, rose, and vegetable gardens; built an outdoor bar, a barn, and guesthouses; dug a swimming pool (in which they and their guests swam au naturel); and created Japanese-style outdoor garden “rooms” accessible through wooden doors mounted between trees.
Eugen assumed many of the household chores so his wife would have time to study and write in an upstairs library and in a small pine writing cabin just up the hill from the house. An avid naturalist, Millay meticulously collected and pressed hundreds of specimens of wildflowers and, in true writer form, kept detailed diaries of every bird she sighted and every flower and herb she planted. After a morning spent transplanting lilac bushes, she wrote gleefully, “We pulled up the lilacs by the roots of their hair!!” and after a few hours weeding in the hot sun, she reported: “Did all my weeding without a stitch and got a marvelous tan.”
In her self-deprecating “Portrait by a Neighbour,” Millay mused about what it meant to be a lazy gardener:
She digs in her garden
With a shovel and a spoon,
She weeds her lazy lettuce
By the light of the moon,
. . .
Her lawn looks like a meadow,
And if she mows the place
She leaves the clover standing
And the Queen Anne’s lace!
And in “Counting-out Rhyme,” she found delight, and consonance, in the nomenclature of trees: