Madame Lelica

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Edna 세인트 빈센트 밀래(1892–1950) 로 주요 twentieth-century 그림의 장르에서의시입니다. 다음은 그녀의 이전 컬렉션 중 일부에서 Edna St.Vincent Millay 의 12 개의시를 선택합니다.

Edna 는 어린 나이부터 위대한 문학 작품에 몰두했습니다. 그녀는 셰익스피어,키츠,롱펠로,셸리,워즈워스를 읽었습니다., 에서 연령의 여섯 그녀는 컴파일 다시으로 카피한 것들을 제공 그녀의 어머니”으로 시집트 빈센트 밀래.”

1912 년,격려하는 그녀의 어머니에 의해,드,다음 19,그녀를 보내시,”갱생에게”Lyric 년,잡지는 매년시회 게시 경력 항목입니다. 그녀가 이기지는 못했지만,시는 그녀에게 많은 관심을 얻었고 그녀의 글쓰기 경력을 시작했습니다.,

시 포함되어 있 이 목록:

• 선술집
• 슬픔
• 유골의 삶
• 첫 번째 도
• Ebb
• 곡의 두번째 월
• 어떤 입술로 내 입술에 스
• 출발
• 약혼
• 만가지 않고 음악
• 사랑하지 않는 모든
• 의 발라드 현악기-위버

몇 엉겅퀴에서 무화과(1921),밀래의 첫 번째 주요 컬렉션,탐험의 여성 성적이다. 두 번째 4 월(또한 1921)은 비탄,자연 및 죽음을 다루었습니다.,

1923 년 에드나의 네 번째 시집인 하프위버의 발라드가 시로 퓰리처상을 수상했다. 그녀는 퓰리처에서 우승 한 최초의 여성이었고,시를위한 상을 수상한 두 번째 사람 만있었습니다.

Edna 는 슈퍼 스타 지위의 지위를 달성했으며,시인에게는 여전히 드문 일입니다. 1920 년대 내내,그녀는 국내외에서 많은 독서 투어를하는 동안 열정적이고 매진 된 군중들에게 낭송했습니다., 홀리 페페에,그녀의 문학의 집행인,캡슐에 넣어 밀래

“에 대해 환멸을 전후 청소년 간주는 그녀들의 대변인은 여권 및 사회적 평등,밀래 표현된 반항 정신의 그들의 세대입니다.

참으로,비록 그녀는 그 선호하는 전통적인 시적와 같은 다양한 가사와 소네트,그녀는 과감하게 반전 기존의 성 역할 시에서,여자 연인 대신 남자,그리고 새로운 설정,충격적인 판례를 인정하여 여성의 성적으로 실행 가능한 문학의 주제입니다.,”

아마도 그녀는 레코딩 했다는 그녀의 초에 양쪽에 설명된 대로,하나는 그녀의 가장 유명한시”먼저 그림”(에 포함되어 있는 이 게시물)—로 그녀가 오래 살고 과거의 나이 쉰.

에 대해 더 시의 드 세인트 빈센트 밀래

• 미국 시(수십의 항목)
• Edna 세인트 빈센트 밀래의시되었습에 의해 가려져 그녀의 개인적인 삶—자는 그 변경
• 시 Foundation

. . . . . . . . . .

Edna St.Vincent Millay
에 대해 자세히 알아보십시오. . . . ., . . . . . .

Tavern

I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May set them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,
And dream his journey's end,
But I will rouse at midnight
The falling fire to tend.
Aye, 'tis a curious fancy—
But all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
A long time ago.
. . . . . . . . . .

Sorrow

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain,—
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.
People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.
. . . . . . . . . .

Ashes of Life

Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will, — and would that night were here!
But ah! — to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again! — with twilight near!
Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;
This or that or what you will is all the same to me;
But all the things that I begin I leave before I'm through, —
There's little use in anything as far as I can see.
Love has gone and left me, — and the neighbors knock and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse, —
And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
There's this little street and this little house.

. . . . . . . . . .

Renascence by Edna St. Vincent Millay
. . . . . . . . . . .,86420″>

어떤 입술로 내 입술에 스

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
. . . . . . . . . .

출발

It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little I care,
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere!
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!
I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
And find me at dawn in a desolate place,
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Or the roof of a house, or the eyes of a face.
I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.
But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it's little enough I care,
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.
"Is something the matter, dear," she said,
"That you sit at your work so silently?"
"No, mother, no—'twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettle—I'll make the tea."
. . . . . . . . . .

약혼

Oh, come, my lad, or go, my lad,
And love me if you like!
I hardly hear the door shut
Or the knocker strike.
Oh, bring me gifts or beg me gifts,
And wed me if you will!
I'd make a man a good wife,
Sensible and still.
And why should I be cold, my lad,
And why should you repine,
Because I love a dark head
That never will be mine?
I might as well be easing you
As lie alone in bed
And waste the night in wanting
A cruel dark head!
You might as well be calling yours
What never will be his,
And one of us be happy;
There's few enough as is.
. . . . . . . . . .

만가지 않고 음악

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
. . . . . . . . . .

사랑은 모든

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
. . . . . . . . . .

의 발라드 현악기-위버

"Son,” said my mother,
When I was knee-high,
"You’ve need of clothes to cover you,
And not a rag have I.
"There’s nothing in the house
To make a boy breeches,
Nor shears to cut a cloth with
Nor thread to take stitches.
"There’s nothing in the house
But a loaf-end of rye,
And a harp with a woman’s head
Nobody will buy,”
And she began to cry.
That was in the early fall.
When came the late fall,
"Son,” she said, "the sight of you
Makes your mother’s blood crawl,—
"Little skinny shoulder-blades
Sticking through your clothes!
And where you’ll get a jacket from
God above knows.
"It’s lucky for me, lad,
Your daddy’s in the ground,
And can’t see the way I let
His son go around!”
And she made a queer sound.
That was in the late fall.
When the winter came,
I’d not a pair of breeches
Nor a shirt to my name.
I couldn’t go to school,
Or out of doors to play.
And all the other little boys
Passed our way.
"Son,” said my mother,
"Come, climb into my lap,
And I’ll chafe your little bones
While you take a nap.”
And, oh, but we were silly
For half an hour or more,
Me with my long legs
Dragging on the floor,
A-rock-rock-rocking
To a mother-goose rhyme!
Oh, but we were happy
For half an hour’s time!
But there was I, a great boy,
And what would folks say
To hear my mother singing me
To sleep all day,
In such a daft way?
Men say the winter
Was bad that year;
Fuel was scarce,
And food was dear.
A wind with a wolf’s head
Howled about our door,
And we burned up the chairs
And sat on the floor.
All that was left us
Was a chair we couldn’t break,
And the harp with a woman’s head
Nobody would take,
For song or pity’s sake.
The night before Christmas
I cried with the cold,
I cried myself to sleep
Like a two-year-old.
And in the deep night
I felt my mother rise,
And stare down upon me
With love in her eyes.
I saw my mother sitting
On the one good chair,
A light falling on her
From I couldn’t tell where,
Looking nineteen,
And not a day older,
And the harp with a woman’s head
Leaned against her shoulder.
Her thin fingers, moving
In the thin, tall strings,
Were weav-weav-weaving
Wonderful things.
Many bright threads,
From where I couldn’t see,
Were running through the harp-strings
Rapidly,
And gold threads whistling
Through my mother’s hand.
I saw the web grow,
And the pattern expand.
She wove a child’s jacket,
And when it was done
She laid it on the floor
And wove another one.
She wove a red cloak
So regal to see,
"She’s made it for a king’s son,”
I said, "and not for me.”
But I knew it was for me.
She wove a pair of breeches
Quicker than that!
She wove a pair of boots
And a little cocked hat.
She wove a pair of mittens,
She wove a little blouse,
She wove all night
In the still, cold house.
She sang as she worked,
And the harp-strings spoke;
Her voice never faltered,
And the thread never broke.
And when I awoke,—
There sat my mother
With the harp against her shoulder
Looking nineteen
And not a day older,
A smile about her lips,
And a light about her head,
And her hands in the harp-strings
Frozen dead.
And piled up beside her
And toppling to the skies,
Were the clothes of a king’s son,
Just my size. 

카테고리: 시

1. 내가 좋아하는 그녀는 것은”시간의하지 않는 구제를 가지고:당신은 모두 거짓말”=나가 그것을 읽을 때마다 나는 끝까지 눈물–어떤 멋진 시인이다.,

   • 광산뿐만 아니라.

2. 그녀는 그녀만의 발라드 현악기 위,가렸다. 그래서 사실,초기 미국의,뿐만 아니라 오늘!!! 그녀는 1958 년을 졸업하기 위해 학교에 다닐 때 거의 언급되지 않았습니다. 나는 그 사랑스러운 매력적인 이야기를 놓쳤다. 지금 그들을 즐길 것입니다. 감사합니다. 피츠버그 Post_Gazette,이번 일요일 Pg 에서 그녀의 이야기를 보았다. 디-7. 피츠버그 PA

3. 감사합니다 너무 많은 이것을 쓰고–나는 항상 숭배와 사랑 Vincent!,

   • 고마워,낸시—나는 그녀가 그녀보다 더 널리 읽고 토론했으면 좋겠다. 확실히 여전히 상징적 인 인물이며,그녀의 시간보다 훨씬 앞서 있습니다.나는 이것이 내가 할 수있는 유일한 방법이라고 생각한다.