edna_st_vincent_millay misstree i couldn't resist posting some of my flavorite poet's works... there are very few that i am consistently a fan of... but millay... oh, she does something to me, the way she turns rhyme and meter on their ear, the way they drip without being thick, the way her images drift like summer smoke... i will always love her works... there are more that move me as deeply as these, but i feel guilty enough for placing five of her gems here, so i will place no more... thankyouverymuch... oh, and those five would be found at: siege, ebb, flown, dirge, and bare_tree. siege and ebb are the only two which are actually named such. 040315 ... minnesota_chris very pretty they are. They very . . . um are pretty is talking like Yoda today, minus the wisdom 040315 ... pipedream 'interim' steals the breath and stills the soul. she is magic woman. and the one about bearing apples in her skirt and saying 'these are all for you!', sweetest poem ever. i forget the name. sonnet something? anyhoo. millay rocks my socks :) 040315 ... oldephebe i'd never heard of her before..read a few of her glistening tears diamonds this evening..thankyou for reccommending her mtree... 040315 ... misstree any recommendations for others who capture a similar feel? 040316 ... FA113N My current favourite: I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year; And you must welcome from another part Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear. No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing; And I have loved you all too long and well To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring. Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes, I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums, That you may hail anew the bird and rose When I come back to you, as summer comes. Else will you seek, at some not distant time, Even your summer in another clime. 130126 ... Risen LOVE, if I weep it will not matter, And if you laugh I shall not care; Foolish am I to think about it, But it is good to feel you there. Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking, White and awful the moonlight reached Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere, There was a shutter loose,—it screeched! Swung in the wind,—and no wind blowing!— I was afraid, and turned to you, Put out my hand to you for comfort,— And you were gone! Cold, cold as dew, Under my hand the moonlight lay! Love, if you laugh I shall not care, But if I weep it will not matter,— Ah, it is good to feel you there! 150208 what's it to you? who go blather from