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Edna St. Vincent Millay

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

Think Not, Not For A Moment Let Your Mind


Think not, not for a moment let your mind,
Wearied with thinking, doze upon the thought
That the work's done and the long day behind,
And beauty, since 'tis paid for, can be bought.
If in the moonlight from the silent bough
Suddenly with precision speak your name
The nightingale, be not assured that now
His wing is limed and his wild virtue tame.
Beauty beyond all feathers that have flown
Is free; you shall not hood her to your wrist,
Nor sting her eyes, nor have her for your own
In an fashion; beauty billed and kissed
Is not your turtle; tread her like a dove
She loves you not; she never heard of love.

Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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  • Colleen Courtney (5/17/2014 3:34:00 PM)

    Not white are what to make of this poem. An interesting piece invoking one to ponder it's meaning. (Report) Reply

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