mj@pur-ee.UUCP (Slartibartfast) (03/22/86)
This is a review of 'Collected Sonnets', introduction copyright 1959 by Norma Millay Ellis. 'Collected Sonnets' was compiled by Edna St Vincent Millay, and is a collection of her own sonnets - it is good, go and buy it this very minute. So much for the review, required by the copyright. Now for the brief quotations, along with another suggestion that if you like what you see, go and buy COLLECTED SONNETS. net.poems turned me on to E StVM three or four years ago, hope I can do the same for someone else. xli I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind, Am urged by your propinquity to find Your person fair, and feel a certain zest To bear your body's weight upon my breast: So subtly is the fume of life designed, To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind, And leave me once again undone, possessed. Think not for this, however, the poor treason Of my stout blood against my staggering brain, I shall remember you with love, or season My scorn with pity,--let me make it plain: I find this frenzy insufficient reason For conversation when we meet again. lxiii Life, were thy pains as are the pains of hell, So hardly to be borne, yet to be borne, And all thy boughs more grim with wasp and thorn Than armoured bough stood ever; too chill to spell With the warm tongue, and sharp with broken shell Thy ways, whereby in wincing haste forlorn The desperate foot must travel, blind and torn, Yet must I cry: So be it; it is well. So fair to me thy vineyards, nor less fair Then the sweet heaven my fathers hoped to gain; So bright this earthly blossom spiked with care, This harvest hung behind the boughs of pain, Needs must I gather, judging by the stain I bleed, but know not wherefore, know not where. (This is one of my favorites; the imagery and rhythm of the words is genius): To Inez Milholland (Read in Washington, 18 Nov 1923, at the unveiling of a statue of three leaders in the cause of Equal Rights for Women) Upon this marble bust that is not I Lay the round, formal wreath that is not fame; But in the forum of my silenced cry Root ye the living tree whose sap is flame. I, that was proud and valiant, am no more, Save as a dream that wanders wide and late, Save as a wind that rattles the stout door, Troubling the ashes in the sheltered grate. The stone will perish, I shall be twice dust. Only my standard on a taken hill Can cheat the mildew and the red-brown rust And make immortal my adventurous will. Even now the silk is tugging at the staff: Take up the song, forget the epitaph. -- Edna St. Vincent Millay Hope you liked these poems. (Strangely enough, the poems seem even better typeset than glowing on an adm3a screen.) The hardest part of this was choosing which ones to submit! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mark A. Johnson - Purdue University Department of Electrical Engineering (Department of Redundancy Department) UUCP:..allegra!purdue!pur-ee!mj USPS:411B S. Chauncey, W. Lafayette, IN 47906