July’s poems
… are by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
First Fig
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night:
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –
It gives a lovely light!
Second Fig
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: / Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
The Unexplorer
There was a road ran past our house
Too lovely to explore.
I asked my mother once – she said
That if you followed where it led
It brought you to the milkman’s door.
(That’s why I have not traveled more.)
Thursday
And if I loved you Wednesday,
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday –
So much is true.
And why you come complaining
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday – yes – but what
Is that to me?
The True Encounter
“Wolf!” cried my cunning heart
At every sheep it spied,
And roused the countryside.
“Wolf! Wolf!” – and up would start
Good neighbors, bringing spade
And pitchfork to my aid.
At length my cry was known:
Therein lay my release.
I met the wolf alone
And was devoured in peace.
I have left out “The Penitent” – the last section of “Figs from Thistles” – because it is too impious.
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Figs from Thistles [excerpts]First Fig
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night:
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –
It gives a lovely light!
Second Fig
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: / Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
The Unexplorer
There was a road ran past our house
Too lovely to explore.
I asked my mother once – she said
That if you followed where it led
It brought you to the milkman’s door.
(That’s why I have not traveled more.)
Thursday
And if I loved you Wednesday,
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday –
So much is true.
And why you come complaining
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday – yes – but what
Is that to me?
The True Encounter
“Wolf!” cried my cunning heart
At every sheep it spied,
And roused the countryside.
“Wolf! Wolf!” – and up would start
Good neighbors, bringing spade
And pitchfork to my aid.
At length my cry was known:
Therein lay my release.
I met the wolf alone
And was devoured in peace.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
I have left out “The Penitent” – the last section of “Figs from Thistles” – because it is too impious.