Edna St. Vincent Millay

(22 February 1892 – 19 October 1950 / Rockland / Maine / United States)

Sonnets 09: Let You Not Say Of Me When I Am Old - Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Let you not say of me when I am old,
In pretty worship of my withered hands
Forgetting who I am, and how the sands
Of such a life as mine run red and gold
Even to the ultimate sifting dust, "Behold,
Here walketh passionless age!"—for there expands
A curious superstition in these lands,
And by its leave some weightless tales are told.

In me no lenten wicks watch out the night;
I am the booth where Folly holds her fair;
Impious no less in ruin than in strength,
When I lie crumbled to the earth at length,
Let you not say, "Upon this reverend site
The righteous groaned and beat their breasts in prayer."


Comments about Sonnets 09: Let You Not Say Of Me When I Am Old by Edna St. Vincent Millay

  • Rookie - 37 Points Colleen Courtney (5/17/2014 1:43:00 PM)

    So much beauty in the way this poem is worded. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: strength, red, night, life, running



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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