edna st. vincent millay

Love is not all; it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink,
And rise and sink, and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want, past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

I’ve gotten very into this sonnet recently.

7 April, 2008. art-of-all-trades, bookishness, stuff I find awesome.

3 Comments

  1. raalla replied:

    *slaps*
    MILLAY!
    what is it with you and misspelling/ getting involved with misspelled versions of my favorite people’s names?!
    but. I like this sonnet so you’re forgiven.

    8 April, 2008 at 12:48 pm. Permalink.

  2. bylandl replied:

    WHOA.

    I cannot believe I did that; I slap people for doing that.

    It’s up there with “T.S. Elliot.” I mean, no.

    To be amended.

    8 April, 2008 at 4:01 pm. Permalink.

  3. raalla replied:

    Speaking of misspelled “Eliot”s…”Eliot Smith” makes me want to hit people. E-L-L-I-O-T-T.

    Speaking of poetry, my mother gave me (lent me? hahahahaha as if.) her copy of The Indispensable Dorothy Parker and I am in love.

    8 April, 2008 at 4:06 pm. Permalink.

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