Vincent Millay
Vincent Millay
home saxophone foxes
The Englishman foxtrots as he fox-hunts, with all his being, through thickets, through ditches, over hedges, through chiffons, through waiters, over saxophones, to the victorious finish; and who goes home depends on how many the ambulance will accommodate.
pay dies
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll.
feet my-own
After the feet of beauty fly my own.
one-thing one-thing-after-another
[L]ife isn't one thing after another, it's the same thing over and over
heart feet mind
It's little I know what's in my heart,What's in my mind it's little I know,But there's that in me must up and start,And it's little I care where my feet go.
love-is slumber meat
Love is not all; it is not meat nor drink.
lonely winter bird
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
singers longing
Longing alone is singer to the lute.
quiet graves quiet-place
A grave is such a quiet place.
love love-is needs
Need we say it was not love, Now that love is perished?
summer littles knows
I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.
heart heavenly hard
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
dream lying sleep
When we are old and these rejoicing veins Are frosty channels to a muted stream, And out of all our burning there remains No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream, This be our solace: that it was not said When we were young and warm and in our prime, Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead, Sleeping away the unreturning time.
war thinking sides
We think-although of course, now, we very seldom Clearly think- That the other side of War is Peace.