jjorge, thanks for the reminder of Millay's birthday. "Dirge" is very moving, isn't it? Continuing in the same vein of loss (as befits your new signature line, which I like very much, by the way), here's another of my favorite poems of hers. I have a feeling I may have posted it before, either here or on the Abuzz thread, but it's so good it deserves a second reading.
Song of a Second April
April this year, not otherwise
Than April of a year ago,
Is full of whispers, full of sighs,
Of dazzling mud and dingy snow;
Hepaticas that pleased you so
Are here again, and butterflies.
There rings a hammering all day,
And shingles lie about the doors;
In orchards near and far away
The grey wood-pecker taps and bores;
And men are merry at their chores,
And children earnest at their play.
The larger streams run still and deep,
Noisy and swift the small brooks run;
Among the mullein stalks the sheep
Go up the hillside in the sun,
Pensively, -- only you are gone,
You that alone I cared to keep.
bree
Thanks for 'Song of a Second April'.
It is sad and lovely.
jj
NOT EVEN MY PRIDE
Not even my pride shall suffer much;
Not even my pride at all, maybe,
If this ill-timed, intemperate clutch
Be loosed by you and not by me,
Will suffer; I have been so true
A vestal to that only pride
Wet wood cannot extinguish, nor
Sand, nor its embers scattered, for,
See all these years, it has not died.
And if indeed, as I dare think,
You cannot push this patient flame,
By any breath your lungs could store,
Even for a moment to the floor
To crawl there, even for a moment crawl,
What can you mix for me to drink
That shall deflect me? What you do
Is either malice, crude defense
Of ego, or indifference:
I know these things as well as you;
You do not dazzle me at all.
Some love, and some simplicity,
Might well have been the death of me.
__________
Thanks Jjorge, for reminding me of ESVM's birthday! I forgot while I've been away for a week or so -- spending time on a Sonoran beach & reading poetry.
I also love your new signature line... a great quote!
