Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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Ashes Of Life

Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;

Eat I must, and sleep I will, — and would that night were here!

But ah! — to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!

Would that it were day again! — with twilight near!

Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;

This or that or what you will is all the same to me;

But all the things that I begin I leave before I'm through, —

There's little use in anything as far as I can see.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

And Do You Think That Love Itself

And do you think that love itself,

Living in such an ugly house,

Can prosper long?

We meet and part;

Our talk is all of heres and nows,

Our conduct likewise; in no act

Is any future, any past;

Under our sly, unspoken pact,

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Thursday

And if I loved you Wednesday,

Well, what is that to you?

I do not love you Thursday -

So much is true.

And why you come complaining

Is more than I can see.

I loved you Wednesday, - yes -but what

Is that to me?

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Gazing Upon Him Now, Severe And Dead

Gazing upon him now, severe and dead,

It seemed a curious thing that she had lain

Beside him many a night in that cold bed,

And that had been which would not be again.

From his desirous body the great heat

Was gone at last, it seemed, and the taut nerves

Loosened forever. Formally the sheet

Set forth for her to-day those heavy curves

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Mariposa

Butterflies are white and blue

In this field we wander through.

Suffer me to take your hand.

Death comes in a day or two.

All the things we ever knew

Will be ashes in that hour:

Mark the transient butterfly,

How he hangs upon the flower.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

A Visit To The Asylum

Once from a big, big building,

When I was small, small,

The queer folk in the windows

Would smile at me and call.

And in the hard wee gardens

Such pleasant men would hoe:

"Sir, may we touch the little girl's hair!" —

It was so red, you know.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Little Ghost

I knew her for a little ghost

That in my garden walked;

The wall is high—higher than most—

And the green gate was locked.

And yet I did not think of that

Till after she was gone—

I knew her by the broad white hat,

All ruffled, she had on.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Afternoon On A Hill

I will be the gladdest thing

Under the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowers

And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds

With quiet eyes,

Watch the wind bow down the grass,

And the grass rise.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I Shall Forget You Presently, My Dear

I shall forget you presently, my dear,

So make the most of this, your little day,

Your little month, your little half a year,

Ere I forget, or die, or move away,

And we are done forever; by and by

I shall forget you, as I said, but now,

If you entreat me with your loveliest lie

I will protest you with my favorite vow.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Conscientious Objector

I shall die, but

that is all that I shall do for Death.

I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;

I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.

He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,

business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.

But I will not hold the bridle

while he clinches the girth.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

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.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Lament

Listen, children:

Your father is dead.

From his old coats

I'll make you little jackets;

I'll make you little trousers

From his old pants.

There'll be in his pockets

Things he used to put there,

Edna St. Vincent Millay