Archive for the 'poetry' Category

22
Apr
08

The Leaf and the Tree

“When will you learn, myself, to be
a dying leaf on a living tree?
Budding, swelling, growing strong,
Wearing green, but not for long,
Drawing sustenance from air,
That other leaves, and you not there,
May bud, and at the autumn’s call
Wearing russet, ready to fall?

Has not this trunk a deed to do
Unguessed by small and tremulous you?
Shall not these branches in the end
To wisdom and the truth ascend?
And the great lightning plunging by
Look sidewise with a golden eye
To glimpse a tree so tall and proud
It sheds its leaves upon a cloud?

Here, I think, is the heart’s grief:
The tree, no mightier than the leaf,
Makes firm its root and spreads it crown
And stands; but in the end comes down.
That airy top no boy could climb
Is trodden in a little time
By cattle on their way to drink.
The fluttering thoughts a leaf can think,
That hears the wind and waits its turn,
Have taught it all a tree can learn.

Time can make soft that iron wood.
The tallest trunk that ever stood,
In time, without a dream to keep,
Crawls in beside the root to sleep.”

-Edna St Vincent Millay


(Photograph taken from my breakfast nook window. Maryland.)

Advertisements
16
Oct
07

Edna St. Vincent Millay

She is most certainly my favorite poetess. While Millay does tend to lean on morbidity for inspiration, she manages to capture and render her reading into a state of complete fascination. I am especially fond of her short, and frequently whimsical prose. For a complete listing of her works, click here.


(Photograph taken of Millay by Arnold Genthe, June 1914)

“No matter what I say,
All that I really love
Is the rain that flattens on the bay,
And the eel-grass in the cove;
The jingle-shells that lie and bleach
At the tide-line, and the trace
Of higher tides along the beach:
Nothing in this place.”

– Eel-Grass, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Second April

07
Oct
07

The Sun Travels

Ophelia Grace

“The sun is not a-bed, when I
At night upon my pillow lie;
Still round the earth his way he takes,
And morning after morning makes.

While here at home, in shining day,
We round the sunny garden play,
Each little Indian sleepy-head
Is being kissed and put to bed.

And when at eve I rise from tea,
Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea;
And all the children in the west
Are getting up and being dressed.”
-Robert Louis Stevenson




Categories