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Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems
- What Lips My Lips Have Kissed,...
- Love Is Not All Love is not all: it is not meat nor ...
- Conscientious Objector I shall die, but that is all that I ...
- The Spring And The Fall In the spring of the year, in the ...
- Dirge Without Music I am not resigned to the shutting away of...
- Afternoon On A Hill I will be the gladdest thing ...
- First Fig My candle burns at both ends; It will not last ...
Edna St. Vincent Millay was an American lyrical poet, playwright and feminist. She received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, and was known for her activism and her many love affairs. She used the pseudonym Nancy Boyd for her prose work.
Early Life
Millay was born in Rockland, Maine to Cora Lounella, a nurse, and Henry Tollman Millay, a schoolteacher who would later become superintendent of schools. Her middle name derives from St. Vincent's Hospital in New York, where her uncle's life had been saved just before her birth. The family's house was "between the mountains and the sea where baskets of apples and drying herbs on the porch mingled their scents with those of... more »
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What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet Xliii)
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A ...
can someone she light on the Edns St. Vincent Millay's poem, I Could No Let You Go from Mementos of Millay?
Truly an awesome poet. I majored in poetry, and I can say for myself that this is a great poet.
Maine claims her, and America labeled her a poet! Would have loved to met her, in her time! One of my favorite and most cherished!
And I to lie with you, Melissa. On a bright sunshiny morning in the High Sierras or in an evening during the magic of an alpenglow..
One of the poems iin which Millay is shattered and humiliated not by the loss of love but by the travesty of justice during the Sacco-Vanzetti trumped up trial. Both were executed - more for being Italian immigrants and anarchists..than for anything based on evidence. Compare to the infamous Dreyfuss Affair in France.
The pernicious weeds have won, Millay's character thinks.
I guess my previous information was incorrect. This PH biography seems to imply she died from smoking; my understanding was that she fell down a flight of steps at her home and broke her neck.
This poem created a relaxing feel for me. I would give anything to be able to just lay under the sun on a hill.