Not So Far As The Forest
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I
That chill is in the air
Which the wise know well, and even have learned to bear.
This joy, I know,
Will soon be under snow.
The sun sets in a cloud
And is not seen.
Beauty, that spoke aloud,
Addresses now only the remembering ear.
The heart begins here
To feed on what has been.
Night falls fast.
Today is in the past.
Blown from the dark hill hither to my door
Three flakes, then four
Arrive, then many more.

II
Branch by branch
This tree has died. Green only
Is one last bough, moving its leaves in the sun.
What evil ate its root, what blight,
What ugly thing,
Let the mole say, the bird sing;
Or the white worm behind the shedding bark
Tick in the dark.
You and I have only one thing to do:
Saw the trunk through.

III
Distressed mind, forbear
To tease the hooded Why:
That shape will not reply.
From the warm chair
To the wind’s welter
Flee, if storm’s your shelter.
But no, you needs must part,
Fling him his release–
On whose ungenerous heart
Alone you are at peace.

IV
Not dead of wounds, not borne
Home to the village on a litter of branches, torn
By splendid claws and the talk all night of the villagers,
But stung to death by gnats
Lies Love.
What swamp I sweated through for all these years
Is at length plain to me.

V
Poor passionate thing,
Even with this clipped wing how well you flew!–though not so far as the forest.
Unwounded and unspent, serene but for the eye’s bright trouble,
Was it the lurching flight, the unequal wind under the lopped feathers that brought you down,
To sit in folded colours on the empty level field,
Visible as a ship, paling the yellow stubble?
Rebellious bird, warm body foreign and bright,
Has no one told you?–Hopeless is your flight
Towards the high branches. Here is your home,
Between barnyard strewn with grain and the forest tree.
Though Time refeather the wing,
Ankle slip the ring,
The once-confined thing
Is never again free.

Hello, and welcome back again to Poetry Wednesday 12/02/09.

You can sign in today and take the tour thru Thursday, so take your time.

I’ll be your hostess again this week. My sister, Sans Souci, is on a break, but she will check in.

Before we get started, please make sure that your post has a link to get back to this page to make it easier to take the tour:

1) Copy and paste the following link that I have provided for you from this page to somewhere on your poetry post.

Link back to the Poetry Wednesday tour on Laurita’s page

2) Leave the link of your poetry post in the comments section below. This is the link guests will click on to read your poem.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay (February 22, 1892 – October 19, 1950) was an American lyrical poet and playwright and the first woman to receive thePulitzer Prize for Poetry. She was also known for her unconventional bohemian lifestyle and her many love affairs. She used the pseudonym Nancy Boyd for her prose work.

Millay was born in Rockland, Maine to Cora Lounella Buzzell, a nurse, and Henry Tollman Millay, a schoolteacher who would later become superintendent of schools. Her middle name derives from St. Vincent’s Hospital in New York, where her uncle’s life had been saved just prior to her birth.

In New York she lived in Greenwich Village. It was at this time that she first attained great popularity in America. She won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923, for The Harp-Weaver, and Other Poems. She was the first woman to be so honored for poetry. Her reputation was damaged by poetry she wrote in support of the Allied war effort during World War II. Merle Rubin noted: “She seems to have caught more flak from the literary critics for supporting democracy than Ezra Pound did for championing fascism.”

In 1943 she was awarded the Frost Medal for her lifetime contribution to American poetry. She was the sixth recipient of that honor, and the second woman.

Millay had relationships with several other students during her time at Vassar, then a women’s college. In January 1921 she went to Paris, where she met sculptor Thelma Wood, with whom she had a romantic relationship. During her years in Greenwich Village and Paris she also had many relationships with men, including the literary critic Edmund Wilson, who unsuccessfully proposed marriage to her in 1920.

In 1923 she married Eugen Jan Boissevain (Amsterdam, 20 May 1880 – Boston, MA, 29 August 1949), then the 43-year-old widower of labor lawyer and war correspondent Inez Milholland. Boissevain greatly supported her career and took primary care of domestic responsibilities. They lived near Austerlitz,New York, at a farmhouse they named Steepletop.

Millay’s marriage with Boissevain was an open one, with both taking other lovers. Millay’s most significant other relationship during this time was with the poet George Dillon, fourteen years her junior, for whom a number of her sonnets were written. Millay also collaborated with Dillon on Flowers of Evil, a translation of Charles Baudelaire‘s Les Fleurs du mal.

Boissevain died in 1949 of lung cancer. Millay was found dead at the bottom of the stairs in her house on 19 October 1950; it was clear she fell to her death, but the cause of the fall is unknown.

In 2006, the state of New York paid $1.69 million to acquire 230 acres of Steepletop. The land will be added to a nearby state forest preserve. Proceeds from the sale are being used to restore the farmhouse with plans to turn it into a museum.

Parts of the grounds of Steepletop, including a Poet’s Walk that leads to her grave, are now open to the public. Millay bought Steepletop with her husband in 1925, two years after winning the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.

*Edna St. Vincent Millay’s biography was brought to you by Wikipedia.

Poor passionate thing,
Even with this clipped wing how well you flew!–though not so far as the forest.
Unwounded and unspent, serene but for the eye’s bright trouble,
Was it the lurching flight, the unequal wind under the lopped feathers that brought you down,
To sit in folded colours on the empty level field,
Visible as a ship, paling the yellow stubble?

Rebellious bird, warm body foreign and bright,
Has no one told you?–Hopeless is your flight
Towards the high branches. Here is your home,
Between barnyard strewn with grain and the forest tree.
Though Time refeather the wing,
Ankle slip the ring,
The once-confined thing
Is never again free.

The tour starts here.

deletereply starfishred wrote on Nov 30, ’09 VERY NICE LAURITA SHE IS A FAVORITE http://starfishred.multiply.com/journal/item/2077/POETRY_WEDNESDAY-

deletereply pestep55 wrote on Nov 30, ’09 A fav of mine as well. starting mine now!

deletereply gileson wrote on Nov 30, ’09 Love the work by Edna St. Vincent Millay and the beautiful Moonlight Sonata. I can hardly wait for Monday’s to get here to see what wonderful things are in store on Poetry Wednesday. You are a true “artista” Laurita! Keep it coming! There are those for whom the next few weeks are lonely and depressing. Even Bill Shakespeare had his moments when he was a little on the blue side. I have taken the liberty of presenting Sonnet 73 in his own words and also in more contemporary language and have also added some comments at the end that might be of interest. Sonnet 73

deletereply fransformation wrote on Dec 1, ’09 An extraordinary poetess and woman. Love her work. http://fransformation.multiply.com/journal/item/393/Poetry_Wednesday_

deletereply madisonpooface wrote on Dec 1, ’09 Here is my post for today. Nice music http://madisonpooface.multiply.com/journal/item/442/Poetry_WednesdaySylvia_Plath

deletereply sylvie1 wrote on Dec 2, ’09 This poem made me feel sad … she was quite a lady. Sounds like she enjoyed her life and lived it as she saw fit. Very courageous for a woman in those times. Interesting post. Thanks! http://sylvie1.multiply.com/journal/item/917/_POETRY_WEDNESDAY_

deletereply sassyangelac wrote on Dec 2, ’09 http://sassyangelac.multiply.com/journal/item/652/Poetry_Wednesday–The_Purpose_Beyond_the_Process

editdeletereply lauritasita wrote on Dec 2, ’09 sylvie1 said This poem made me feel sad I’m sorry the poem made you feel sad, Sylvie…

deletereply sylvie1 wrote on Dec 2, ’09 lauritasita said I’m sorry the poem made you feel sad, Sylvie… oh dear, not your fault, it is a sadnes that just kind of slipped in. Not the kind that really hurts you, but the kind that makes me stop and think about life.

deletereply madisonpooface wrote on Dec 3, ’09 Such a sad but beautiful poem.

deletereply jpeterb wrote on Dec 10, ’09 Thanks for your tribute to ESVM. Here at Steepletop we are working to bring her, her home and her gardens back to the public. While Millay’s fans have never wavered in their love for her poetry, she has been overlooked by critics, educators and the general public for far too long. The Millay Renascence (see www.millay.org) is one way in which we are bringing the public back to her and presenting her to the public. Steepletop is open to anyone interested in getting involved with Millay’s present and her future.