A poet I have always enjoyed, Edna St. Vincent Millay, published a collection of poetry entitled Second April in 1921—none of them poems of hers I am familiar with. So I offer for your consideration and comment a poem from that collection, entitled
White with daisies and red with sorrel
And empty, empty under the sky !—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
Here is a place for me to lie.
Daisies spring from damnèd seeds,
And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
Cursed by farmers thriftily.
But here, unhated for an hour,
The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a bastard flower,
Like flowers that bear an honest name.
And here a while, where no wind brings
The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessèd things
The blood too bright, the brow accurst.