Edna St. Vincent Millay

1892–1950 · lived 58 years

Edna St. Vincent Millay was a prominent American poet and playwright, celebrated for her lyrical verse and her passionate, often rebellious, spirit. A leading voice of the "Lost Generation," her work captured the zeitgeist of the Jazz Age with its themes of love, freedom, social injustice, and the complexities of modern life. Millay's skillful use of traditional forms, such as the sonnet, combined with her bold modern sensibilities, earned her widespread acclaim and a devoted readership.

n. 1892-02-22, Rockland · m. 1950-10-19, Austerlitz

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Wraith

Wraith

"Thin Rain, whom are you haunting,
That you haunt my door?"
—Surely it is not I she's wanting;
Someone living here before—
"Nobody's in the house but me:
You may come in if you like and see."

Thin as thread, with exquisite fingers,—
Have you seen her, any of you?—
Grey shawl, and leaning on the wind,
And the garden showing through?

Glimmering eyes,—and silent, mostly,
Sort of a whisper, sort of a purr,
Asking something, asking it over,
If you get a sound from her.—

Ever see her, any of you?—
Strangest thing I've ever known,—
Every night since I moved in,
And I came to be alone.

"Thin Rain, hush with your knocking!
You may not come in!
This is I that you hear rocking;
Nobody's with me, nor has been!"

Curious, how she tried the window,—
Odd, the way she tries the door,—
Wonder just what sort of people
Could have had this house before . . .

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Bio

Identification and basic context

Edna St. Vincent Millay was an American poet and playwright. She was born in Rockland, Maine, United States. She primarily wrote in English. Millay became one of the most popular and influential poets of the early 20th century, often associated with the Harlem Renaissance and the Lost Generation.

Childhood and education

Millay's childhood was marked by her mother's encouragement of her artistic talents. She attended Barnard School for Girls and later Vassar College, where she began to gain recognition for her poetry. Her time at Vassar was formative, exposing her to literary circles and fostering her independent spirit.

Literary trajectory

Millay's career took off with the publication of her long narrative poem "Renascence" in 1917. She quickly became a literary sensation, known for her passionate lyrics and her defiance of convention. She published numerous collections of poetry, including "A Few Figs from Thistles" (1920), "Second April" (1921), and "The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems" (1923), for which she won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. She also wrote several plays.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Major works include "Renascence" (1917), "A Few Figs from Thistles" (1920), "Second April" (1921), "The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems" (1923), and "Fatal Interview" (1931). Her poetry often explored themes of love, desire, independence, mortality, social injustice, and the passage of time. Millay was a master of traditional forms, particularly the sonnet, which she used to express intense personal emotion and sharp social commentary. Her style is characterized by its musicality, wit, emotional directness, and clarity of language. She was known for her bold, confessional voice and her unapologetic exploration of female sexuality and autonomy.

Cultural and historical context

Millay's work emerged during a period of significant social and cultural change in the United States, including the Jazz Age, the women's suffrage movement, and the Harlem Renaissance. She was a prominent figure in Greenwich Village bohemian circles and became an icon of female independence and artistic freedom.

Personal life

Millay was known for her passionate love affairs and her unconventional lifestyle. Her relationships, including her marriage to Eugen Jan Boissevain, were often sources of inspiration and sometimes turmoil. She struggled with addiction and health issues later in life.

Recognition and reception

Millay achieved immense popularity during her lifetime, becoming one of the best-selling poets in America. She won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923. While her popularity waned somewhat in the mid-20th century, her work has seen a significant resurgence in critical appreciation in recent decades.

Influences and legacy

Millay was influenced by classical poets and the English Romantic tradition. She, in turn, influenced many later poets, particularly women writers who found inspiration in her independence and her unflinching exploration of female experience. Her work continues to be read and admired for its emotional power and its enduring relevance.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Millay's poetry is often analyzed for its feminist themes, its complex treatment of love and desire, and its engagement with social and political issues. Critics have explored her use of form to convey modern sensibility and her position within the literary landscape of her time.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Millay was a charismatic performer of her own poetry and was known for her striking beauty and independent spirit, which captivated many.

Death and memory

Millay died tragically in 1950 at her home, Steepletop, in Austerlitz, New York, likely from a fall down the stairs. Her home has been preserved as a museum and literary center, ensuring her memory and work continue to be celebrated.

Poems

Eel-Grass

Eel-Grass

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.

490

Dirge

Dirge

Boys and girls that held her dear,
Do your weeping now;
All you loved of her lies here.

Brought to earth the arrogant brow,
And the withering tongue
Chastened; do your weeping now.

Sing whatever songs are sung,
Wind whatever wreath,
For a playmate perished young,

For a spirit spent in death.
Boys and girls that held her dear,
All you loved of her lies here.

281

Doubt No More That Oberon

Doubt No More That Oberon

Doubt no more that Oberon—
Never doubt that Pan
Lived, and played a reed, and ran
After nymphs in a dark forest,
In the merry, credulous days,—
Lived, and led a fairy band
Over the indulgent land!
Ah, for in this dourest, sorest
Age man's eye has looked upon,
Death to fauns and death to fays,
Still the dog-wood dares to raise—
Healthy tree, with trunk and root—
Ivory bowls that bear no fruit,
And the starlings and the jays—
Birds that cannot even sing—
Dare to come again in spring!

304

Conscientious Objector

Conscientious Objector

I shall die, but
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much,
I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living,
that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.

328

Daphne

Daphne

Why do you follow me?—
Any moment I can be
Nothing but a laurel-tree.

Any moment of the chase
I can leave you in my place
A pink bough for your embrace.

Yet if over hill and hollow
Still it is your will to follow,
I am off;—to heel, Apollo!

346

Bluebeard

Bluebeard

This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain

For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see... Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.

Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.

344

Chorus

Chorus

Give away her gowns,
Give away her shoes;
She has no more use
For her fragrant gowns;
Take them all down,
Blue, green, blue,
Lilac, pink, blue,
From their padded hangers;
She will dance no more
In her narrow shoes;
Sweep her narrow shoes
From the closet floor.

332

Assault

Assault

I

I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
I should not so have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road.

II

I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs?
Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,
That am a timid woman, on her way
From one house to another!

381

Being Young And Green

Being Young And Green

Being Young and Green, I said in love's despite:
Never in the world will I to living wight
Give over, air my mind
To anyone,
Hang out its ancient secrets in the strong wind
To be shredded and faded—

Oh, me, invaded
And sacked by the wind and the sun!

303

And do you think that love itself

And do you think that love itself

And do you think that love itself,
Living in such an ugly house,
Can prosper long?

We meet and part;
Our talk is all of heres and nows,
Our conduct likewise; in no act
Is any future, any past;
Under our sly, unspoken pact,
I KNOW with whom I saw you last,
But I say nothing; and you know
At six-fifteen to whom I go—
Can even love be treated so?

I KNOW, but I do not insist,
Having stealth and tact, thought not enough,
What hour your eye is on your wrist.

No wild appeal, no mild rebuff
Deflates the hour, leaves the wine flat—

Yet if YOU drop the picked-up book
To intercept my clockward look—
Tell me, can love go on like that?

Even the bored, insulted heart,
That signed so long and tight a lease,
Can BREAK it CONTRACT, slump in peace.

345

Quotes

I would indeed that love were longer-lived,

The heart can push the sea and land

I forgot in Camelot

We think—although of course, now, we very seldom / Clearly think— / That the other side of War is Peace.

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