The Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay [NOOK Book]

Overview

"These are the poems that made Edna St. Vincent Millay’s reputation when she was young. Saucy, insolent, flip, and defiant, her little verses sting the page," writes Nancy Milford in the Introduction to The Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay. As one of America’s most beloved poets–and the winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 1923–Millay defined a generation with her intoxicating voice of liberation. Most remembered for her passionate, lyrical voice and mastery of the sonnet form, Millay explores love, death, ...
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The Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay

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Overview

"These are the poems that made Edna St. Vincent Millay’s reputation when she was young. Saucy, insolent, flip, and defiant, her little verses sting the page," writes Nancy Milford in the Introduction to The Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay. As one of America’s most beloved poets–and the winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 1923–Millay defined a generation with her intoxicating voice of liberation. Most remembered for her passionate, lyrical voice and mastery of the sonnet form, Millay explores love, death, and nature in her poetry while deftly employing allusions to the classical and the romantic. In 1917, at the age of twenty, she burst onto the New York literary scene with the publication of her first book of poetry, Renascence and Other Poems, which is included in this volume.

Edited by Millay biographer Nancy Milford, The Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay also includes the collections A Few Figs from Thistles and Second April, as well as "The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver" and eight of Millay’s sonnets from the early twenties.
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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“Edna St. Vincent Millay seems to me one of the only poets writing in English in our time who have attained anything like the stature of great literary figures.”—Edmund Wilson
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780307824141
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 7/18/2012
  • Series: Modern Library Classics
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 192
  • Sales rank: 758,083
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author

Nancy Milford is the author of Savage Beauty (available from Random House Trade Paperbacks), an iconic portrait of the extraordinary private life of Edna St. Vincent Millay. Her previous book, Zelda, was a number one New York Times bestseller and a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award. She lives in New York City.
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Read an Excerpt

Renascence and Other Poems

Renascence

All I could see from where I stood

Was three long mountains and a wood;

I turned and looked another way,

And saw three islands in a bay.

So with my eyes I traced the line

Of the horizon, thin and fine,

Straight around till I was come

Back to where I’d started from;

And all I saw from where I stood

Was three long mountains and a wood.

Over these things I could not see;

These were the things that bounded me;

And I could touch them with my hand,

Almost, I thought, from where I stand.

And all at once things seemed so small

My breath came short, and scarce at all.

But, sure, the sky is big, I said;

Miles and miles above my head;

So here upon my back I’ll lie

And look my fill into the sky.

And so I looked, and, after all,

The sky was not so very tall.

The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,

And—sure enough!—I see the top!

The sky, I thought, is not so grand;

I ’most could touch it with my hand!

And reaching up my hand to try,

I screamed to feel it touch the sky.

I screamed, and—lo!—Infinity

Came down and settled over me;

Forced back my scream into my chest,

Bent back my arm upon my breast,

And, pressing of the Undefined

The definition on my mind,

Held up before my eyes a glass

Through which my shrinking sight did pass

Until it seemed I must behold

Immensity made manifold;

Whispered to me a word whose sound

Deafened the air for worlds around,

And brought unmuffled to my ears

The gossiping of friendly spheres,

The creaking of the tented sky,

The ticking of Eternity.

I saw and heard, and knew at last

The How and Why of all things, past,

And present, and forevermore.

The Universe, cleft to the core,

Lay open to my probing sense

That, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence

But could not,—nay! But needs must suck

At the great wound, and could not pluck

My lips away till I had drawn

All venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!

For my omniscience paid I toll

In infinite remorse of soul.

All sin was of my sinning, all

Atoning mine, and mine the gall

Of all regret. Mine was the weight

Of every brooded wrong, the hate

That stood behind each envious thrust,

Mine every greed, mine every lust.

And all the while for every grief,

Each suffering, I craved relief

With individual desire,—

Craved all in vain! And felt fierce fire

About a thousand people crawl;

Perished with each,—then mourned for all!

A man was starving in Capri;

He moved his eyes and looked at me;

I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,

And knew his hunger as my own.

I saw at sea a great fog bank

Between two ships that struck and sank;

A thousand screams the heavens smote;

And every scream tore through my throat.

No hurt I did not feel, no death

That was not mine; mine each last breath

That, crying, met an answering cry

From the compassion that was I.

All suffering mine, and mine its rod;

Mine, pity like the pity of God.

Ah, awful weight! Infinity

Pressed down upon the finite Me!

My anguished spirit, like a bird,

Beating against my lips I heard;

Yet lay the weight so close about

There was no room for it without.

And so beneath the weight lay I

And suffered death, but could not die.

Long had I lain thus, craving death,

When quietly the earth beneath

Gave way, and inch by inch, so great

At last had grown the crushing weight,

Into the earth I sank till I

Full six feet under ground did lie,

And sank no more,—there is no weight

Can follow here, however great.

From off my breast I felt it roll,

And as it went my tortured soul

Burst forth and fled in such a gust

That all about me swirled the dust.

Deep in the earth I rested now,

Cool is its hand upon the brow

And soft its breast beneath the head

Of one who is so gladly dead.

And all at once, and over all

The pitying rain began to fall;

I lay and heard each pattering hoof

Upon my lowly, thatchèd roof,

And seemed to love the sound far more

Than ever I had done before.

For rain it hath a friendly sound

To one who’s six feet underground;

And scarce the friendly voice or face:

A grave is such a quiet place.

The rain, I said, is kind to come

And speak to me in my new home.

I would I were alive again

To kiss the fingers of the rain,

To drink into my eyes the shine

Of every slanting silver line,

To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze

From drenched and dripping apple-trees.

For soon the shower will be done,

And then the broad face of the sun

Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth

Until the world with answering mirth

Shakes joyously, and each round drop

Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.

How can I bear it; buried here,

While overhead the sky grows clear

And blue again after the storm?

O, multi-colored, multi-form,

Beloved beauty over me,

That I shall never, never see

Again! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,

That I shall never more behold!

Sleeping your myriad magics through,

Close-sepulchred away from you!

O God, I cried, give me new birth,

And put me back upon the earth!

Upset each cloud’s gigantic gourd

And let the heavy rain, down-poured

In one big torrent, set me free,

Washing my grave away from me!

I ceased; and through the breathless hush

That answered me, the far-off rush

Of herald wings came whispering

Like music down the vibrant string

Of my ascending prayer, and—crash!

Before the wild wind’s whistling lash

The startled storm-clouds reared on high

And plunged in terror down the sky,

And the big rain in one black wave

Fell from the sky and struck my grave.

I know not how such things can be;

I only know there came to me

A fragrance such as never clings

To aught save happy living things;

A sound as of some joyous elf

Singing sweet songs to please himself,

And, through and over everything,

A sense of glad awakening.

The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,

Whispering to me I could hear;

I felt the rain’s cool finger-tips

Brushed tenderly across my lips,

Laid gently on my sealèd sight,

And all at once the heavy night

Fell from my eyes and I could see,—

A drenched and dripping apple-tree,

A last long line of silver rain,

A sky grown clear and blue again.

And as I looked a quickening gust

Of wind blew up to me and thrust

Into my face a miracle

Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,—

I know not how such things can be!—

I breathed my soul back into me.

Ah! Up then from the ground sprang I

And hailed the earth with such a cry

As is not heard save from a man

Who has been dead, and lives again.

About the trees my arms I wound;

Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;

I raised my quivering arms on high;

I laughed and laughed into the sky,

Till at my throat a strangling sob

Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb

Sent instant tears into my eyes;

O God, I cried, no dark disguise

Can e’er hereafter hide from me

Thy radiant identity!

Thou canst not move across the grass

But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,

Nor speak, however silently,

But my hushed voice will answer Thee.

I know the path that tells Thy way

Through the cool eve of every day;

God, I can push the grass apart

And lay my finger on Thy heart!

The world stands out on either side

No wider than the heart is wide;

Above the world is stretched the sky,—

No higher than the soul is high.

The heart can push the sea and land

Farther away on either hand;

The soul can split the sky in two,

And let the face of God shine through.

But East and West will pinch the heart

That can not keep them pushed apart;

And he whose soul is flat—the sky

Will cave in on him by and by.
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Table of Contents

Biographical Note v
Introduction xiii
Renascence and Other Poems 1
Renascence 3
Interim 10
The Suicide 17
God's World 22
Afternoon on a Hill 23
Sorrow 24
Tavern 25
Ashes of Life 26
The Little Ghost 27
Kin to Sorrow 29
Three Songs of Shattering 30
I. The first rose on my rose-tree 30
II. Let the little birds sing 30
III. All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree! 31
The Shroud 32
The Dream 33
Indifference 34
Witch-Wife 35
Blight 36
When the Year Grows Old 38
Sonnets 40
I. Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,--no 40
II. Time does not bring relief; you all have lied 41
III. Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring 42
IV. Not in this chamber only at my birth 43
V. If I should learn, in some quite casual way 44
VI. Bluebeard 45
A Few Figs from Thistles 47
First Fig 49
Second Fig 49
Recuerdo 50
Thursday 51
To the Not Impossible Him 52
MacDougal Street 53
The Singing-Woman from the Wood's Edge 54
She Is Overheard Singing 56
The Prisoner 58
The Unexplorer 59
Grown-up 60
The Penitent 61
Daphne 62
Portrait by a Neighbor 63
Midnight Oil 64
The Merry Maid 65
To Kathleen 66
To S. M. 67
The Philosopher 68
Sonnets 69
I. Love, though for this you riddle me with darts 69
II. I think I should have loved you presently 70
III. Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow! 71
IV. I shall forget you presently, my dear 72
Second April 73
Spring 75
City Trees 76
The Blue-Flag in the Bog 77
Journey 84
Eel-Grass 86
Elegy Before Death 87
The Bean-Stalk 88
Weeds 90
Passer Mortuus Est 91
Pastoral 92
Assault 93
Travel 94
Low-Tide 95
Song of a Second April 96
Rosemary 97
The Poet and His Book 98
Alms 102
Inland 104
To a Poet That Died Young 105
Wraith 107
Ebb 109
Elaine 110
Burial 111
Mariposa 112
The Little Hill 113
Doubt No More That Oberon 114
Lament 115
Exiled 116
The Death of Autumn 118
Ode to Silence 119
Memorial to D.C. 125
Epitaph 127
Praver to Persephone 128
Chorus 129
Elegy 130
Dirge 132
Sonnets 133
I. We talk of taxes, and I call you friend 133
II. Into the golden vessel of great song 134
III. Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter 135
IV. Only until this cigarette is ended 136
V. Once more into my arid days like dew 137
VI. No rose that in a garden ever grew 138
VII. When I too long have looked upon your face 139
VIII. And you as well must die, beloved dust 140
IX. Let you not say of me when I am old 141
X. Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this 142
XI. As to some lovely temple, tenantless 143
XII. Cherish you then the hope I shall forget 144
Wild Swans 145
Sonnets and The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver 147
Sonnets 149
When you, that at this moment are to me 149
I know I am but summer to your heart 150
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word! 151
Here is a wound that never will heal, I know 152
Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find 153
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why 154
Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare 155
The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver 156
Index of Titles 161
Index of First Lines 165
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Sort by: Showing 1 – 4 of 3 Customer Reviews
  • Posted February 1, 2013

    Lovely Read!

    This is one of the best poetry books I have invested my money in! Not only does it have a large quantity of Millay's poems, but it has a wide variety of her poems. All in all, a wonderful book! Highly recommended!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 27, 2005

    Millay the Beautiful

    Millay is an icon of all that embodies talent; her ability to see and feel and then transform it all to letters is a lost art. Poets today try so hard to write in blank verse and most are unreadable; more should witness and garner inspiration from the lyrical sweetness of rhyme in reading Millay.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 27, 2008

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted January 19, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

Sort by: Showing 1 – 4 of 3 Customer Reviews

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