Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Weeds

White with daisies and red with sorrel
And empty, empty under the sky!—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
Here is a place for me to lie.

Daisies spring from damned seeds,
And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
Cursed by farmers thriftily.

But here, unhated for an hour,
The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a bastard flower,
Like flowers that bear an honest name.

And here a while, where no wind brings
The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things,
The blood too bright, the brow accurst.

1. Siege
2. I See So Clearly Now My Similar Years
3. To One Who Might Have Borne a Message
4. One Way There Was
5. She Had Forgotten

William Carruth Weeds ("Poor, homely, unloved things beside the way")

Print

1886 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version