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diff --git a/old/fgths10.txt b/old/fgths10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95d3f85 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fgths10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,839 @@ +Project Gutenberg's A few Figs from Thistles, by Edna St. Vincent Millay +#4 in our series by Edna St. Vincent Millay + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + + + +This etext produced by David Starner. + + + + +A Few Figs from Thistles + +Poems and Sonnets + +by + +Edna St. Vincent Millay + + + + +Thanks are due to the editors of Ainslie's, The Dial, Pearson's +Poetry, Reedy's Mirror, and Vanity Fair, for their kind permission +to republish various of these poems. + +This edition of "A Few Figs from Thistles" contains several poems +not included in earlier editions. + +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! + + +Recuerdo + +We were very tired, we were very merry-- +We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry. +It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable-- +But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table, +We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon; +And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon. + +We were very tired, we were very merry-- +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!" for the apples and pears, +And we gave her all our money but our subway fares. + + +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? + + +To the Not Impossible Him + +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? + +The fabric of my faithful love + No power shall dim or ravel +Whilst I stay here,--but oh, my dear, + If I should ever travel! + + +Macdougal Street + +As I went walking up and down to take the evening air, + (Sweet to meet upon the street, why must I be so shy?) +I saw him lay his hand upon her torn black hair; + ("Little dirty Latin child, let the lady by!") + +The women squatting on the stoops were slovenly and fat, + (Lay me out in organdie, lay me out in lawn!) +And everywhere I stepped there was a baby or a cat; + (Lord God in Heaven, will it never be dawn?) + +The fruit-carts and clam-carts were ribald as a fair, + (Pink nets and wet shells trodden under heel) +She had haggled from the fruit-man of his rotting ware; + (I shall never get to sleep, the way I feel!) + +He walked like a king through the filth and the clutter, + (Sweet to meet upon the street, why did you glance me by?) +But he caught the quaint Italian quip she flung him from the gutter; + (What can there be to cry about that I should lie and cry?) + +He laid his darling hand upon her little black head, + (I wish I were a ragged child with ear-rings in my ears!) +And he said she was a baggage to have said what she had said; + (Truly I shall be ill unless I stop these tears!) + + +The Singing-Woman from the Wood's Edge + +What should I be but a prophet and a liar, +Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar? +Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water, +What should I be but the fiend's god-daughter? + +And who should be my playmates but the adder and the frog, +That was got beneath a furze-bush and born in a bog? +And what should be my singing, that was christened at an altar, +But Aves and Credos and Psalms out of the Psalter? + +You will see such webs on the wet grass, maybe, +As a pixie-mother weaves for her baby, +You will find such flame at the wave's weedy ebb +As flashes in the meshes of a mer-mother's web, + +But there comes to birth no common spawn +From the love of a priest for a leprechaun, +And you never have seen and you never will see +Such things as the things that swaddled me! + +After all's said and after all's done, +What should I be but a harlot and a nun? + +In through the bushes, on any foggy day, +My Da would come a-swishing of the drops away, +With a prayer for my death and a groan for my birth, +A-mumbling of his beads for all that he was worth. + +And there'd sit my Ma, with her knees beneath her chin, +A-looking in his face and a-drinking of it in, +And a-marking in the moss some funny little saying +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?" and a "Which would you rather?" + +With him for a sire and her for a dam, +What should I be but just what I am? + + +She Is Overheard Singing + +Oh, Prue she has a patient man, + And Joan a gentle lover, +And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth,-- + But my true love's a rover! + +Mig, her man's as good as cheese + And honest as a briar, +Sue tells her love what he's thinking of,-- + But my dear lad's a liar! + +Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha + Are thick with Mig and Joan! +They bite their threads and shake their heads + And gnaw my name like a bone; + +And Prue says, "Mine's a patient man, + As never snaps me up," +And Agatha, "Arth' is a hug-the-hearth, + Could live content in a cup;" + +Sue's man's mind is like good jell-- + All one colour, and clear -- +And Mig's no call to think at all + What's to come next year, + +While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad, + That's troubled with that and this;-- +But they all would give the life they live + For a look from the man I kiss! + +Cold he slants his eyes about, + And few enough's his choice,-- +Though he'd slip me clean for a nun, or a queen, + Or a beggar with knots in her voice,-- + +And Agatha will turn awake + While her good man sleeps sound, +And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue + Will hear the clock strike round, + +For Prue she has a patient man, + As asks not when or why, +And Mig and Sue have naught to do + But peep who's passing by, + +Joan is paired with a putterer + That bastes and tastes and salts, +And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth,-- + But my true love is false! + + +The Prisoner + +All right, +Go ahead! +What's in a name? +I guess I'll be locked into +As much as I'm locked out of! + + +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.) + + +Grown-up + +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? + + +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!" + +Alas for pious planning-- + It mattered not a whit! +As far as gloom went in that room, + The lamp might have been lit! +My little Sorrow would not weep, + My little Sin would go to sleep-- +To save my soul I could not keep + My graceless mind on it! + +So up I got in anger, + And took a book I had, +And put a ribbon on my hair + To please a passing lad, +And, "One thing there's no getting by-- +I've been a wicked girl," said I; +"But if I can't be sorry, why, + I might as well be glad!" + + +Daphne + +Why do you follow me?-- +Any moment I can be +Nothing but a laurel-tree. + +Any moment of the chase +I can leave you in my place +A pink bough for your embrace. + +Yet if over hill and hollow +Still it is your will to follow, +I am off;--to heel, Apollo! + + +Portrait by a Neighbor + +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 the Queen Anne's lace! + + +Midnight Oil + +Cut if you will, with Sleep's dull knife, + Each day to half its length, my friend,-- +The years that Time takes off _my_ life, + He'll take from off the other end! + + +The Merry Maid + +Oh, I am grown so free from care + Since my heart broke! +I set my throat against the air, + I laugh at simple folk! + +There's little kind and little fair + Is worth its weight in smoke +To me, that's grown so free from care + Since my heart broke! + +Lass, if to sleep you would repair + As peaceful as you woke, +Best not besiege your lover there + For just the words he spoke +To me, that's grown so free from care + Since my heart broke! + + +To Kathleen + +Still must the poet as of old, +In barren attic bleak and cold, +Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to +Such things as flowers and song and you; + +Still as of old his being give +In Beauty's name, while she may live, +Beauty that may not die as long +As there are flowers and you and song. + + +To S. M. +If he should lie a-dying + +I am not willing you should go +Into the earth, where Helen went; +She is awake by now, I know. +Where Cleopatra's anklets rust +You will not lie with my consent; +And Sappho is a roving dust; +Cressid could love again; Dido, +Rotted in state, is restless still: +You leave me much against my will. + + +The Philosopher + +And what are you that, wanting you + I should be kept awake +As many nights as there are days + With weeping for your sake? + +And what are you that, missing you, + As many days as crawl +I should be listening to the wind + And looking at the wall? + +I know a man that's a braver man + And twenty men as kind, +And what are you, that you should be + The one man in my mind? + +Yet women's ways are witless ways, + As any sage will tell,-- +And what am I, that I should love + So wisely and so well? + + +Four Sonnets + + +I + +Love, though for this you riddle me with darts, +And drag me at your chariot till I die,-- +Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!-- +Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie +Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair +Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr +Who still am free, unto no querulous care +A fool, and in no temple worshiper! +I, that have bared me to your quiver's fire, +Lifted my face into its puny rain, +Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire +As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain! +(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave, +Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!) + + +II + +I think I should have loved you presently, +And given in earnest words I flung in jest; +And lifted honest eyes for you to see, +And caught your hand against my cheek and breast; +And all my pretty follies flung aside +That won you to me, and beneath your gaze, +Naked of reticence and shorn of pride, +Spread like a chart my little wicked ways. +I, that had been to you, had you remained, +But one more waking from a recurrent dream, +Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained, +And walk your memory's halls, austere, supreme, +A ghost in marble of a girl you knew +Who would have loved you in a day or two. + + +III + +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, light and false, my love, are you, +I am most faithless when I most am true. + + +IV + +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 favorite vow. +I would indeed that love were longer-lived, +And oaths were not so brittle as they are, +But so it is, and nature has contrived +To struggle on without a break thus far,-- +Whether or not we find what we are seeking +Is idle, biologically speaking. + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of A few Figs from Thistles +by Edna St. Vincent Millay + diff --git a/old/fgths10.zip b/old/fgths10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0becdda --- /dev/null +++ b/old/fgths10.zip |