Monday, April 9, 2012

Oh, Edna!

I really like the poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay. I'll be back this week with creative-minded posts, I promise, but today, another (very different) poem about spring. Yes, sometimes April is just a wench.

Spring
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

4 comments:

iamrushmore said...

that's a great one. I've been enjoying all your poetry posts. they make me slow down and savor.

Michelle said...

I came across that one again this morning and was going to tell you to post it. Some days . . . lately I've been enjoying spring, but some days . . . yeah, I've definitely felt this.

Bells said...

Wow.

Babbling and strewing flowers. There's a different take on spring. A whole lot darker. Great juxtaposition with the GMH poem!

Donna Lee said...

I've not read alot of Edna St Vincent Millay poetry. I like this one even if it's contrary to the popular perception of April as a bountiful and blooming month.