VINCE

In my primary blog, "Celtic Lady", I wrote about a new poetry book compiled by Caroline Kennedy: "She Walks in Beauty: A Woman's Journey Through Poems". She includes several poems by my favorite woman poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay, fondly called Vince by  her family and friends.

She includes Sonnet LXIII, probably my favorite of all Millay's poems. I am printing it below, plus another poem that did not make the anthology but which is probably my second favorite of the many sonnets and lyrics written by Vince.

"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 little while, that in me sings no more."

~~~~~~~~~~

"PITY ME NOT BECAUSE THE LIGHT OF DAY"

"Pity me not because the light of day

At close of day no longer walks the sky;

Pity me not for beauties passed away

From field and thicket as the the year goes by;

Pity me not the waning of the moon,

Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,

Nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon,

And you no longer look with love on me.

This have I known always: Love is no more

Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,

Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,

Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:

Pity me that the heart is slow to learn

What the swift mind beholds at every turn."

Added later: In her comment, WOL reminded me of this Millay poem. It is also one of my favorites and I feel I must add it!

"LOVING YOU LESS THAN LIFE, A LITTLE LESS"

"Loving you less than life, a little less
Than bitter-sweet upon a broken wall
Or bush-wood smoke in autumn, I confess
I cannot swear I love you not at all.
For there is that about you in this light--
A yellow darkness, sinister of rain--
Which sturdily recalls my stubborn sight
To dwell on you, and dwell on you again.
And I am made aware of many a week
I shall consume, remembering in what way
Your brown hair grows about your brow and cheek,
And what divine absurdities you say:
Till all the world, and I, and surely you,
Will know I love you, whether or not I do."