Edna St Vincent Millay

Poet and playwright Edna St. Vincent Millay was born in Rockland, Maine, on February 22, 1892. I spent three months in a small town nearby and visited the Inn near Mt Battle where she read her poetry.

Her mother threw her father out in 1899 (an unusual step in those days) and brought up her three daughters in serious poverty. Edna turned out to be of a fiercely independent spirit. She received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, and was known for her activism and her many love affairs.

I admire this poem - although I can't share its dark conclusions.....

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.