The undercurrent of my every thought: To seek you, find you, have you for my own.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, from The Collected Poems (via accidentofhope)

izzy's playlists!
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Jules of Nature
we're not kids anymore.
Cosimo Galluzzi
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Kiana Khansmith
🪼
Mike Driver

No title available
art blog(derogatory)
Keni
RMH

shark vs the universe
DEAR READER
todays bird
will byers stan first human second
Sweet Seals For You, Always

tannertan36
Stranger Things

seen from Netherlands
seen from Armenia
seen from Jamaica
seen from Jamaica

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
@ednastvincentmillay
The undercurrent of my every thought: To seek you, find you, have you for my own.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, from The Collected Poems (via accidentofhope)
Life must go on; I forget just why.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Lament (via violentwavesofemotion)
City Trees by Edna St. Vincent Millay Second April, 1921
Suddenly you burst into tears; There is simply nothing else to do.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, from An Ancient Gesture (via violentwavesofemotion)
Well, I have lost you; and I lost you fairly; In my own way, and with my full consent.
Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Well, I Have Lost You (via violentwavesofemotion)
Edna St. Vincent Millay
They say when you are missing someone that they are probably feeling the same, but I don’t think it’s possible for you to miss me as much as I’m missing you right now
Edna St. Vincent Millay
You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It’s only that.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Only until this cigarette is ended, A little moment at the end of all, While on the floor the quiet ashes fall, And in the firelight to a lance extended, Bizarrely with the jazzing music blended, The broken shadow dances on the wall, I will permit my memory to recall The vision of you, by all my dreams attended. And then adieu,--farewell!--the dream is done. Yours is a face of which I can forget The colour and the features, every one, The words not ever, and the smiles not yet; But in your day this moment is the sun Upon a hill, after the sun has set.
Edna St Vincent Millay, Only Until This Cigarette Is Ended
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word! Give me back my book and take my kiss instead. Was it my enemy or my friend I heard, "What a big book for such a little head!" Come, I will show you now my newest hat, And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink! Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that. I never again shall tell you what I think. I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly; You will not catch me reading any more: I shall be called a wife to pattern by; And some day when you knock and push the door, Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy, I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.
Edna St Vincent Millay, Oh, Oh, You Will Be Sorry
God had called us, and we came; Our loved Earth to ashes left; Heaven was a neighbor's house, Open to us, bereft. Gay the lights of Heaven showed, And 'twas God who walked ahead; Yet I wept along the road, Wanting my own house instead. Wept unseen, unheeded cried, "All you things my eyes have kissed, Fare you well! We meet no more, Lovely, lovely tattered mist! Weary wings that rise and fall All day long above the fire!"— Red with heat was every wall, Rough with heat was every wire— "Fare you well, you little winds That the flying embers chase! Fare you well, you shuddering day, With your hands before your face! And, ah, blackened by strange blight, Or to a false sun unfurled, Now forevermore goodbye, All the gardens in the world! On the windless hills of Heaven, That I have no wish to see, White, eternal lilies stand, By a lake of ebony. But the Earth forevermore Is a place where nothing grows,— Dawn will come, and no bud break; Evening, and no blossom close. Spring will come, and wander slow Over an indifferent land, Stand beside an empty creek, Hold a dead seed in her hand." God had called us, and we came, But the blessed road I trod Was a bitter road to me, And at heart I questioned God. "Though in Heaven," I said, "be all That the heart would most desire, Held Earth naught save souls of sinners Worth the saving from a fire? Withered grass,—the wasted growing! Aimless ache of laden boughs!" Little things God had forgotten Called me, from my burning house. "Though in Heaven," I said, "be all That the eye could ask to see, All the things I ever knew Are this blaze in back of me." "Though in Heaven," I said, "be all That the ear could think to lack, All the things I ever knew Are this roaring at my back." It was God who walked ahead, Like a shepherd to the fold; In his footsteps fared the weak, And the weary and the old, Glad enough of gladness over, Ready for the peace to be,— But a thing God had forgotten Was the growing bones of me. And I drew a bit apart, And I lagged a bit behind, And I thought on Peace Eternal, Lest He look into my mind: And I gazed upon the sky, And I thought of Heavenly Rest,— And I slipped away like water Through the fingers of the blest! All their eyes were fixed on Glory, Not a glance brushed over me; "Alleluia! Alleluia!" Up the road,—and I was free. And my heart rose like a freshet, And it swept me on before, Giddy as a whirling stick, Till I felt the earth once more. All the earth was charred and black, Fire had swept from pole to pole; And the bottom of the sea Was as brittle as a bowl; And the timbered mountain-top Was as naked as a skull,— Nothing left, nothing left, Of the Earth so beautiful! "Earth," I said, "how can I leave you?" "You are all I have," I said; "What is left to take my mind up, Living always, and you dead?" "Speak!" I said, "Oh, tell me something! Make a sign that I can see! For a keepsake! To keep always! Quick!—before God misses me!" And I listened for a voice;— But my heart was all I heard; Not a screech-owl, not a loon, Not a tree-toad said a word. And I waited for a sign;— Coals and cinders, nothing more; And a little cloud of smoke Floating on a valley floor. And I peered into the smoke Till it rotted, like a fog:— There, encompassed round by fire, Stood a blue-flag in a bog! Little flames came wading out, Straining, straining towards its stem, But it was so blue and tall That it scorned to think of them! Red and thirsty were their tongues, As the tongues of wolves must be, But it was so blue and tall— Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see! All my heart became a tear, All my soul became a tower, Never loved I anything As I loved that tall blue flower! It was all the little boats That had ever sailed the sea, It was all the little books That had gone to school with me; On its roots like iron claws Rearing up so blue and tall,— It was all the gallant Earth With its back against a wall! In a breath, ere I had breathed,— Oh, I laughed, I cried, to see!— I was kneeling at its side, And it leaned its head on me! Crumbling stones and sliding sand Is the road to Heaven now; Icy at my straining knees Drags the awful under-tow; Soon but stepping-stones of dust Will the road to Heaven be,— Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Reach a hand and rescue me! "There—there, my blue-flag flower; Hush—hush—go to sleep; That is only God you hear, Counting up His folded sheep! Lullabye—lullabye— That is only God that calls, Missing me, seeking me, Ere the road to nothing falls! He will set His mighty feet Firmly on the sliding sand; Like a little frightened bird I will creep into His hand; I will tell Him all my grief, I will tell Him all my sin; He will give me half His robe For a cloak to wrap you in. Lullabye—lullabye—" Rocks the burnt-out planet free!— Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Reach a hand and rescue me! Ah, the voice of love at last! Lo, at last the face of light! And the whole of His white robe For a cloak against the night! And upon my heart asleep All the things I ever knew!— "Holds Heaven not some cranny, Lord, For a flower so tall and blue?" All's well and all's well! Gay the lights of Heaven show! In some moist and Heavenly place We will set it out to grow.
Edna St Vincent Millay, The Blue-Flag In The Bog
Why do you follow me?— Any moment I can be Nothing but a laurel-tree. Any moment of the chase I can leave you in my place A pink bough for your embrace. Yet if over hill and hollow Still it is your will to follow, I am off;—to heel, Apollo!
Edna St Vincent Millay, Daphne
I know what my heart is like Since your love died: It is like a hollow ledge Holding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool, Drying inward from the edge.
Edna St Vincent Millay, Ebb
I said,—for Love was laggard, O, Love was slow to come,— "I'll hear his step and know his step when I am warm in bed; But I'll never leave my pillow, though there be some As would let him in—and take him in with tears!" I said. I lay,—for Love was laggard, O, he came not until dawn,— I lay and listened for his step and could not get to sleep; And he found me at my window with my big cloak on, All sorry with the tears some folks might weep!
Edna St Vincent Millay, Indifference
Make bright the arrows Gather the shields: Conquest narrows The peaceful fields. Stock well the quiver With arrows bright: The bowman feared Need never fight. Make bright the arrows, O peaceful and wise! Gather the shields Against surprise.
Edna St Vincent Millay, Make Bright the Arrows
Cruel of heart, lay down my song, Your reading eyes have done me wrong, Not for you was the pen bitten, And the mind wrung, and the song written.
Edna St Vincent Millay, To Those Without Pity
Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,--no, Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair Than small white single poppies,--I can bear Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though From left to right, not knowing where to go, I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear So has it been with mist,--with moonlight so. Like him who day by day unto his draught Of delicate poison adds him one drop more Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten, Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed Each hour more deeply than the hour before, I drink--and live--what has destroyed some men.
Edna St Vincent Millay, Sonnet I: Thou Art Not Lovelier Than Lilacs