Tim and I were briefly in Rockland, Maine, last summer. I had forgotten that Edna St. Vincent Millay was born there. We had just missed the Millay Arts & Poetry Festival. We were in an art gallery, looking at paintings, and there on the wall was a copy of the sonnet that opened my wedding:
Sonnet XXXLove is not all: it is not meat nor drinkNor slumber nor a roof against the rain;Nor yet a floating spar to men that sinkAnd rise and sink and rise and sink again;Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;Yet many a man is making friends with deathEven as I speak, for lack of love alone.It well may be that in a difficult hour,Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,I might be driven to sell your love for peace,Or trade the memory of this night for food.It well may be. I do not think I would.
I found it.
Yes, you did.ReplyDelete
A friend had a book of Edna St. Vincent Millay's poetry in her guest room. I read the whole book and found the poetry very accessible, even to a Metrophobe like me.ReplyDelete