My candle burns in ~ both ends; It will not last the night;But ah, mine foes, and oh, my friends— It gives a beloved light!
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Edna St. Vincent Millay to be born in Rockland, Maine, ~ above February 22, 1892. A poet and playwright poetry collections encompass The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver (Flying Cloud Press, 1922), winner of the Pulitzer Prize, and Renascence and also Other Poems (Harper, 1917) She passed away on October 18, 1950, in Austerlitz, brand-new York.
She is neither pink nor pale, and also she never ever will be every mine;She learned she hands in a fairy-tale, and also her mouth on a valentine.She has an ext hair than she needs; In the sunlight "tis a woe to me!And she voice is a cable of fancy beads, Or measures leading into the sea.She loves me all the she can, and her means to my means resign; but she was not made for any type of man, and she never will be every mine.
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"Curse thee, Life, I will certainly live with thee no more!Thou besides mocked me, starved me, win my body sore!And every for a pledge that was no pledged by me,I have actually kissed her crust and eaten sparinglyThat I can eat again, and met her sneersWith deprecations, and thy blows with tears,—Aye, from her glutted lash, glad, crawled away,As if spent passion to be a holiday!And now I go. No one threat, nor straightforward vowOf crust kindness deserve to avail thee nowWith me, whence fear and also faith alike are flown;Lonely ns came, and I depart alone,And recognize not wherein nor unto whom i go;But the thou canst not follow me ns know."Thus ns to Life, and also ceased; but through mine brainMy believed ran still, till I spake again:"Ah, yet I go not as ns came,—no traceIs mine come bear far of that old graceI brought! I have actually been boil in your fires,Bent by her hands, fashioned come thy desires,Thy note is top top me! i am no the sameNor ever an ext shall be, as when I came.Ashes am i of all that as soon as I seemed.In me all"s sunk that leapt, and all the dreamedIs wakeful because that alarm,—oh, dead to thee,For the ill change that she hast wrought in me,Who laugh no more nor lift my throat to singAh, Life, i would have actually been a satisfied thingTo have around the house when ns was grownIf she hadst left my tiny joys alone!I asked of thee no favor conserve this one:That she wouldst leave me play in the sun!And this you didst deny, calling mine nameInsistently, till I rose and came.I witnessed the sun no more.—It were not wellSo long on these unpleasant think to dwell,Need i arise to-morrow and renewAgain my hated tasks, however I am throughWith every things conserve my thoughts and this one night,So the in fact I seem currently quiteFree,and remote from thee,—I feel no hasteAnd no reluctance come depart; i tasteMerely, with thoughtful mien, an unknown draught,That in a little while i shall have actually quaffed."Thus i to Life, and also ceased, and slightly smiled,Looking in ~ nothing; and my thin desires filedBefore me one by one till as soon as againI set new words depend an old refrain:"Treasures you hast the never have actually been mine!Warm lamp in plenty of a mystery chamber shineOf thy gaunt house, and gusts the song have actually blownLike blossoms out to me that sat alone!And I have waited well for thee to showIf any kind of share were mine,—and now I goNothing ns leave, and also if i naught attainI shall but come into mine own again!"Thus ns to Life, and ceased, and also spake no more,But turning, straightway, sought a particular doorIn the rear wall. Heavy it was, and lowAnd dark,—a means by which nobody e"er would goThat other departure had, and never knockWas heard thereat,—bearing a curious lockSome opportunity had shown me fashioned faultily,Whereof Life organized content the useless key,And great coarse hinges, thick and also rough with rust,Whose sudden voice across a silence must,I knew, be harsh and also horrible to hear,—A strange door, ugly like a dwarf.—So nearI come I feel upon mine feet the chillOf acid wind creeping across the sill.So stand longtime, till over me in ~ lastCame weariness, and all things other passedTo make it room; the tho night drifted deepLike snow about me, and also I longed because that sleep.But, suddenly, noting the morning hour,Bayed the deep-throated bell within the tower!Startled, I raised my head,—and through a shoutLaid hold upon the latch,—and was without.* * * *Ah, long-forgotten, well-remembered road, top me ago unto my old abode, my father"s house! there in the night ns came, and found them feasting, and also all things the exact same As they had been before. A splendour hung upon the walls, and such sweet songs to be sung As, echoing the end of an extremely long ago, Had called me native the home of Life, i know.So fair your raiment shone ns looked in shameOn the i do not know garb in which ns came;Then straightway at my hesitancy mocked:"It is mine father"s house!" ns said and also knocked;And the door opened. Come the glowing crowdTattered and also dark ns entered, favor a cloud,Seeing no face but his; to him ns crept,And "Father!" ns cried, and also clasped his knees, and wept.* * * *Ah, work of happiness that followed! all aloneI wandered through the house. My own, my own,My own to touch, my very own to taste and also smell,All I had actually lacked for this reason long and also loved therefore well!None shook me the end of sleep, no one hushed my song,Nor called me in indigenous the sunlight all job long.I know not as soon as the wonder concerned meOf what my father"s business might be,And whither fared and also on what errands bentThe tall and gracious messengers that sent.Yet sooner or later with no track from dawn it spins nightWondering, i sat, and watched them out of sight.And the following day ns called; and also on the thirdAsked them if I can go,—but nobody heard.Then, sick v longing, I emerged at lastAnd went unto my father,—in the vastChamber within he because that so many yearsHas sat, surrounded by his charts and spheres."Father," i said, "Father, i cannot playThe harp the thou didst provide me, and also all dayI sit in idleness, while to and froAbout me thy serene, tomb servants go;And i am weary of mine lonely ease.Better a perilous trip overseasAway native thee, 보다 this, the life ns lead,To sit every day in the sunshine like a weedThat grow to naught,—I love thee an ext than theyWho serve thee most; yet offer thee in no way.Father, ns beg that thee a little taskTo dignify mine days,—"tis all ns askForever, however forever, this denied,I perish." "Child," mine father"s voice replied,"All things thy fancy hath wanted of meThou aside from that received. I have prepared for theeWithin my home a spacious chamber, whereAre delicate things come handle and to wear,And every these things are thine. Dost she love song?My minstrels shall attend thee all day long.Or sigh because that flowers? my fairest gardens standOpen as fields to thee ~ above every hand.And all thy work this native shall host the same:No pleasure shalt thou absence that she shalt name.But together for tasks—" the smiled, and also shook his head;"Thou hadst her task, and laidst that by," the said.