Edna St. Vincent Millayauthor profile |
|
| born | December 13, 1901 |
|---|---|
| died | October 19, 1950 |
| gender | female |
| place of birth | Rockland, Maine, United States |
| genre | Poetry |
|
about this author
Pulitzer Prize-winning poet (the first woman to receive the Pulitzer for poetry). This famous portrait of Vincent (as she was called by friends) was taken by Carl Van Vecht in 1933. |
|
books by Edna St. Vincent Millaycombine editionsavg rating: 4.38 | 712 ratings | 39 distinct works see all books by Edna St. Vincent Millay » |
|
quotes by Edna St. Vincent Millay
"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."
— Edna St. Vincent Millay (Collected Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay)
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light."
— Edna St. Vincent Millay (Collected Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay)
"Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell. "
— Edna St. Vincent Millay
— Edna St. Vincent Millay
"What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning, but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more."
— Edna St. Vincent Millay
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning, but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more."
— Edna St. Vincent Millay












