Edna St. Vincent Millay

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

Edna St. Vincent Millay Poems

41. Wraith 1/13/2003
42. I Know The Face Of Falsehood And Her Tongue 1/13/2003
43. The Blue-Flag In The Bog 1/13/2003
44. The True Encounter 1/13/2003
45. Three Songs Of Shattering 1/13/2003
46. Inland 1/13/2003
47. My Most Distinguished Guest And Learned Friend 1/13/2003
48. Fontaine, Je Ne Boirai Pas De Ton Eau! 1/13/2003
49. The Plaid Dress 1/13/2003
50. The Return From Town 1/13/2003
51. Menses 1/13/2003
52. Sonnets 09: Let You Not Say Of Me When I Am Old 1/13/2003
53. Not Even My Pride Shall Suffer Much 1/13/2003
54. Oh, My Belovèd, Have You Thought Of This 1/1/2004
55. Portrait By A Neighbour 1/13/2003
56. Dirge 1/13/2003
57. The Shroud 1/13/2003
58. Passer Mortuus Est 1/13/2003
59. Elegy 1/13/2003
60. The Bean-Stalk 1/13/2003
61. Think Not, Not For A Moment Let Your Mind 1/13/2003
62. To The Not Impossible Him 1/13/2003
63. Scrub 1/13/2003
64. Sonnets 08: And You As Well Must Die, Beloved Dust 1/13/2003
65. Song Of A Second April 1/13/2003
66. The Unexplorer 1/13/2003
67. Doubt No More That Oberon 1/13/2003
68. Sonnet 03: Mindful Of You The Sodden Earth In Spring 1/13/2003
69. The Little Ghost 1/13/2003
70. Epitaph 1/13/2003
71. Interim 1/13/2003
72. Tavern 1/13/2003
73. The Concert 1/13/2003
74. Sonnet I: Thou Art Not Lovelier Than Lilacs 1/1/2004
75. Sonnet Vi: This Door You Might Not Open 1/1/2004
76. Intention To Escape From Him 1/13/2003
77. Wild Swans 1/13/2003
78. Lines For A Grave-Stone 1/1/2004
79. The Betrothal 1/1/2004
80. Sonnets 01: We Talk Of Taxes, And I Call You Friend 1/13/2003

Comments about Edna St. Vincent Millay

  • May. Red (1/13/2018 12:56:00 AM)

    @patricia My favorite poem ever. Short and to the point

    2 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Patricia Stepanchak (12/15/2017 10:53:00 AM)

    My candle burns at both ends
    It will not last the night
    But oh my foes and ah my friends
    It gives a lovely light.
    This keeps running through my head.
    My college English Professor often quoted this poem as her favorite.

  • Betty Roe (1/18/2016 4:14:00 PM)

    can someone she light on the Edns St. Vincent Millay's poem, I Could No Let You Go from Mementos of Millay?

  • Hunter Freaking Foster (11/22/2013 3:21:00 PM)

    Truly an awesome poet. I majored in poetry, and I can say for myself that this is a great poet.

  • John Hardesty (7/2/2013 1:29:00 PM)

    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!

  • Willie Walker (2/16/2012 3:33:00 PM)

    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..

  • Gabrielle A. Macdonald (1/18/2012 7:25:00 PM)

    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.

  • Michael Harmon (4/19/2009 4:24:00 PM)

    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.

  • Melissa Nelson (10/21/2005 7:00:00 AM)

    This poem created a relaxing feel for me. I would give anything to be able to just lay under the sun on a hill.

Best Poem of Edna St. Vincent Millay

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 ...

Read the full of What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, And Why (Sonnet Xliii)

Kin To Sorrow

Am I kin to Sorrow,
That so oft
Falls the knocker of my door——
Neither loud nor soft,
But as long accustomed,
Under Sorrow's hand?
Marigolds around the step
And rosemary stand,
And then comes Sorrow—

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