I’m glad to have at least one more Poetry Friday in 1923, since this is also the year of the publication of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems. If you haven’t read Millay’s sonnets on love, and you have any appreciation for poetry, do yourself a favor: go find them and read as many as you can. She has the power to laugh at the comedy of life, and then turn on a dime and break your heart. She always does mine. Here is Sonnet VI:
Pity me not because the light of day
At close of day no longer walks the sky;
Pity me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the year goes by;
Pity me not the waning of the moon,
Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,
Nor that a man’s desire is hushed so soon,
And you no longer look with love on me.
This have I known always: Love is no more
Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,
Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,
Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:
Pity me that the heart is slow to learn
What the swift mind beholds at every turn.