Edna St. Vincent Millay
Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems
|161.||We Talk Of Taxes...||1/1/2004|
|162.||What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet Xliii)||1/13/2003|
|163.||When I Too Long Have Looked Upon Your Face||1/1/2004|
|164.||When The Year Grows Old||1/4/2003|
|165.||When We Are Old And These Rejoicing Veins||1/13/2003|
|166.||Whereas At Morning In A Jeweled Crown||1/13/2003|
Love Is Not All
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of ...
Death, I say, my heart is bowed
Unto thine,—O mother!
This red gown will make a shroud
Good as any other!
(I, that would not wait to wear
My own bridal things,
In a dress dark as my hair
Made my answerings.