Tag Archives: Edna St Vincent Millay

A favorite poem . . . warning, it’s angsty

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This is a poem written by one of the most noted American poets of her day, Edna St. Vincent Millay(1892-1950). Millay was not only a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer of verse, she was also a playwright and a feminist. Having read her biography, I can also say she had a pretty fascinating, if rather tumultuous, life.

Photograph of Edna St. Vincent Millay

Photograph of Edna St. Vincent Millay (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I think of the old saying about time healing all wounds, and I know it’s simply not true. Some wounds, losses, pains stay with us forever.  They may diminish to some degree, plague us less; the scar tissue forms on our pysche and the raw ugliness is mercifully relieved. But they never quite heal completely.

I also find myself thinking of Sir Guy and how he suffered over Marian’s death. I’ll never believe he did it in less than a moment of  sheer temporary madness. A horrifying moment when all his dreams, hopes and plans died before his very eyes . . . he lived on with the guilt and regret, shame and pain.  But I think a part of him died before that fateful encounter with Vasey and Isabella in the castle. Part of him died with Marian in the desert that day.  And that’s something for which I can never quite forgive Marian, as blinded as she was by her loyalty to King Richard and manipulated by Robin.   Thank goodness our Sir Guy ultimately found redemption!

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Here Is A Wound That Never Will Heal, I Know

Here is a wound that never will heal, I know,

Being wrought not of a dearness and a death,

But of a love turned ashes and the breath

Gone out of beauty; never again will grow

 The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow

Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath

 Its friendly weathers down, far Underneath

Shall be such bitterness of an old woe.

That April should be shattered by a gust,

That August should be levelled by a rain,

I can endure,

and that the lifted dust

Of man should settle to the earth again;

But that a dream can die, will be a thrust

Between my ribs forever of hot pain.