Edna St. Vincent Millay
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Edna St. Vincent Millaywas an American poet and playwright. She received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923, the third woman to win the award for poetry, and was also known for her feminist activism. She used the pseudonym Nancy Boyd for her prose work. The poet Richard Wilbur asserted, "She wrote some of the best sonnets of the century."...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth22 February 1892
CountryUnited States of America
passion thinking roots
I do not think there is a woman in whom the roots of passion shoot deeper than in me.
life rain love-is
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.
travel faithful fabric
The fabric of my faithful love No power shall dim or ravel Whilst I stay here - but oh, my dear, If I should ever travel!
work people favors
I am not at all in favor of hard work for its own sake; many people who work very hard indeed produce terrible things, and should most certainly not be encouraged.
home saxophone foxes
The Englishman foxtrots as he fox-hunts, with all his being, through thickets, through ditches, over hedges, through chiffons, through waiters, over saxophones, to the victorious finish; and who goes home depends on how many the ambulance will accommodate.
pay dies
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.
feet my-own
After the feet of beauty fly my own.
one-thing one-thing-after-another
[L]ife isn't one thing after another, it's the same thing over and over
heart feet mind
It's little I know what's in my heart,What's in my mind it's little I know,But there's that in me must up and start,And it's little I care where my feet go.
love-is slumber meat
Love is not all; it is not meat nor drink.
lonely winter bird
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before
singers longing
Longing alone is singer to the lute.
quiet graves quiet-place
A grave is such a quiet place.
love love-is needs
Need we say it was not love, Now that love is perished?