A Few Figs from Thistles: Poems and Sonnets

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Frank Shay, 1922 - 39 psl.

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1 psl. - 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!
32 psl. - I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year, Ere I forget, or die, or move away, And we are done forever; by and by I shall forget you, as I said, but now, If you entreat me with your loveliest lie I will protest you with my favourite vow.
2 psl. - We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry; And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear, From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere; And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold, And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold. We were very tired, we were very merry, We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry. We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head, And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read; And she wept, "God bless you!
31 psl. - Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow! Faithless am I save to love's self alone. Were you not lovely I would leave you now: After the feet of beauty fly my own. Were you not still my hunger's rarest food, And water ever to my wildest thirst, I would desert you — think not but I would! — And seek another as I sought you first. But you are mobile as the veering air, And all your charms more changeful than the tide, Wherefore to be inconstant is no care: I have but to continue at your side. So wanton,...
5 psl. - How shall I know, unless I go To Cairo and Cathay, Whether or not this blessed spot Is blest in every way? Now it may be, the flower for me Is this beneath my nose; How shall I tell, unless I smell The Carthaginian rose...
21 psl. - Before she has her floor swept Or her dishes done, Any day you'll find her A-sunning in the sun! It's long after midnight Her key's in the lock, And you never see her chimney smoke Till past ten o'clock! She digs in her garden With a shovel and a spoon, She weeds her lazy lettuce By the light of the moon. She walks up the walk Like a woman in a dream, She forgets she borrowed butter And pays you back cream! Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And...
16 psl. - Was it for this I uttered prayers, And sobbed and cursed And kicked the stairs, That now, domestic as a plate, I should retire at half-past eight!
10 psl. - That would mean just the opposite of all that he was praying ! He taught me the holy-talk of Vesper and of Matin, He heard me my Greek and he heard me my Latin, He blessed me and crossed me to keep my soul from evil, And we watched him out of sight, and we conjured up the devil! Oh, the things I haven't seen and the things I haven't known, What with hedges and ditches till after I was grown, And yanked both ways by my mother and my father, With a 'Which would you better?
15 psl. - 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 milk-man's door. (That's why I have not traveled more...
17 psl. - THE PENITENT I HAD a little Sorrow, Born of a little Sin, I found a room all damp with gloom And shut us all within; And, "Little Sorrow, weep," said I, "And, Little Sin, pray God to die, And I upon the floor will lie And think how bad I've been!

Apie autorių (1922)

Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892-1950 Edna St. Vincent Millay, American poet, dramatist, lyricist, lecturer, and playwright, was born on February 22, 1892 in Rockland, Maine, and educated at Barnard College and at Vassar College, where she earned her B. A. (Her poem "Renascence" won fourth place in a contest and was published in The Lyric Year in 1912; this resulted in a scholarship to Vassar.) Millay's first volume of poetry, "Renascence and Other Poems," was published in 1917. In 1923, "The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver" won her a Pulitzer Prize in Poetry. Other works include: "A Few Figs from Thistles;" "Sonnets in American Poetry," "A Miscellany," "The Lamp and the Bell" and "There Are No Islands Any More." Millay also wrote the libretto for "The King's Henchman," one of the few American grand operas. Edna St. Vincent Millay married Eugen Jan Boissevain in 1923. Shortly after, they purchased a farm in upstate New York, which they called Steepletop. Millay lived here for the rest of her life, composing some of her finest work in a little shack separate from the main house. Boissevain died in 1949. Millay died of a heart attack in her home on October 19, 1950.

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