Edna St. Vincent Millay (Эдна Сент-Винсент Миллей)

* * *

That Love at length should find me out and bring
This fierce and trivial brow unto the dust,
Is, after all, I must confess, but just;
There is a subtle beauty in this thing,
A wry perfection; wherefore now let sing
All voices how into my throat is thrust,
Unwelcome as Death’s own, Love’s bitter crust,
All criers proclaim it, and all steeples ring.
This being done, there let the matter rest.
What more remains is neither here nor there.
That you requite me not is plain to see;
Myself your slave herein have I confessed:
Thus far, indeed, the world may mock at me;
But if I suffer, it is my own affair.

1. Euclid Alone Has Looked
2. I See So Clearly Now My Similar Years
3. Your Face Is Like a Chamber Where a King
4. I, Being Born a Woman
5. Still Will I Harvest Beauty

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