Edna St. Vincent Millay

This thread is for the discussion of Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Who was she? What did she write?
I know that she has written poems and plays, and I know that she was a feminist, activist (and bisexual I might add).

Two poems I know of hers include Conscientious Objector, and The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver (which has been made into a lovely children's picture book with illustrations by Beth Peck).

One play is titled Aria Da Capo.

If people have read her stuff, what have you read & what do you think of it?
Thanks for your comments.

THE BALLAD OF THE HARP-WEAVER

"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 upon 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.

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

Conscientious Objector

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death.

I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear the
clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba, business in the
Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle while he cinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself; I will not give him a
leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip, I will not
tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I
am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabouts of my friends nor
of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much, I will not map him the
route to any man’s door.

Am I a spy in the land of the living, that I should
deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city are
safe with me; never through me
Shall you be overcome

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

An excerpt from
Edna St. Vincent Millay's play titled Aria da Capo


THYRSIS: How gently in the silence, Corydon,
Our sheep go up the bank. They crop a grass
That's yellow where the sun is out, and black
Where the clouds drag their shadows. Have you noticed
How steadily, yet with what a slanting eye
They graze?

CORYDON: As if they thought of other things.
What say you, Thyrsis, do they only question
Where next to pull?--Or do their far minds draw them
Thus vaguely north of west and south of east?

THYRSIS: One cannot say. . . . The black lamb wears its burdocks
As if they were a garland,--have you noticed?
Purple and white--and drinks the bitten grass
As if it were a wine.

CORYDON: I've noticed that.
What say you, Thyrsis, shall we make a song
About a lamb that thought himself a shepherd?

THYRSIS: Why, yes!--that is, why,--no. (I have forgotten my line.)

COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "I know a game worth two of that!"

THYRSIS: Oh, yes. . . . I know a game worth two of that!
Let's gather rocks, and build a wall between us;
And say that over there belongs to me,
And over here to you!

CORYDON: Why,--very well.
And say you may not come upon my side
Unless I say you may!

THYRSIS: Nor you on mine!
And if you should, 'twould be the worse for you!

[They weave a wall of colored crepe paper ribbons from the
centre front to the centre back of the stage, fastening the
ends to COLUMBINE'S chair in front and to PIERROT'S chair in
the back.]

CORYDON: Now there's a wall a man may see across,
But not attempt to scale.

THYRSIS: An excellent wall.

CORYDON: Come, let us separate, and sit alone
A little while, and lay a plot whereby
We may outdo each other.
[They seat themselves on opposite sides of the wall.]

PIERROT: [Off stage.] Ehe, Pierrette!

COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] My name is Columbine!
Leave me alone!

THYRSIS: [Coming up to the wall.]
Corydon, after all, and in spite of the fact
I started it myself, I do not like this
So very much. What is the sense of saying
I do not want you on my side the wall?
It is a silly game. I'd much prefer
Making the little song you spoke of making,
About the lamb, you know, that thought himself
A shepherd!--what do you say?

[Pause.]

CORYDON: [At wall.] (I have forgotten the line.)

COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "How do I know this isn't a trick?"

CORYDON: Oh, yes. . . . How do I know this isn't a trick
To get upon my land?

THYRSIS: Oh, Corydon,
You _know_ it's not a trick. I do not like
The game, that's all. Come over here, or let me
Come over there.

CORYDON: It is a clever trick
To get upon my land. [Seats himself as before.]

THYRSIS: Oh, very well! [Seats himself as before.]
[To himself.] I think I never knew a sillier game.

CORYDON: [Coming to wall.]
Oh, Thyrsis, just a minute!--all the water
Is on your side the wall, and the sheep are thirsty.
I hadn't thought of that.

THYRSIS: Oh, hadn't you?

CORYDON: Why, what do you mean?

THYRSIS: What do I mean?--I mean
That I can play a game as well as you can.
And if the pool is on my side, it's on
My side, that's all.

CORYDON: You mean you'd let the sheep
Go thirsty?

THYRSIS: Well, they're not my sheep. My sheep
Have water enough.

CORYDON: _Your_ sheep! You are mad, to call them
Yours--mine--they are all one flock! Thyrsis, you can't mean
To keep the water from them, just because
They happened to be grazing over here
Instead of over there, when we set the wall up?

THYRSIS: Oh, can't I?--wait and see!--and if you try
To lead them over here, you'll wish you hadn't!

CORYDON: I wonder how it happens all the water
Is on your side. . . . I'll say you had an eye out
For lots of little things, my innocent friend,
When I said, "Let us make a song," and you said,
"I know a game worth two of that!"

COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Pierrot,
D'you know, I think you must be getting old,
Or fat, or something,--stupid, anyway!--
Can't you put on some other kind of collar?

THYRSIS: You know as well as I do, Corydon,
I never thought anything of the kind.
_Don't_ you?


CORYDON: I _do_ not.

THYRSIS: Don't you?

CORYDON: Oh, I suppose so.
Thyrsis, let's drop this,--what do you say?--it's only
A game, you know . . . we seem to be forgetting
It's only a game ... a pretty serious game
It's getting to be, when one of us is willing
To let the sheep go thirsty for the sake of it.

THYRSIS: I know it, Corydon.

[They reach out their arms to each other across the wall.]

COTHURNUS: [Prompting.] "But how do I know--"

THYRSIS: Oh, yes. . . . But how do I know this isn't a trick
To water your sheep, and get the laugh on me?

CORYDON: You can't know, that's the difficult thing about it,
Of course,--you can't be sure. You have to take
My word for it. And I know just how you feel.
But one of us has to take a risk, or else,
Why, don't you see?--the game goes on forever! . . .
It's terrible, when you stop to think of it. . . .
Oh, Thyrsis, now for the first time I feel
This wall is actually a wall, a thing
Come up between us, shutting you away
From me. . . . I do not know you any more!

THYRSIS: No, don't say that! Oh, Corydon, I'm willing
To drop it all, if you will! Come on over
And water your sheep! It is an ugly game.
I hated it from the first. . . . How did it start?

CORYDON: I do not know . . . I do not know . . . I think
I am afraid of you!--you are a stranger!
I never set eyes on you before! "Come over
And water my sheep," indeed!--They'll be more thirsty
Than they are now before I bring them over
Into your land, and have you mixing them up
With yours, and calling them yours, and trying to
keep them!

[Enter COLUMBINE]

COLUMBINE: [To COTHURNUS.] Glummy, I want my hat.

THYRSIS: Take it, and go.

COLUMBINE: Take it and go, indeed. Is it my hat,
Or isn't it? Is this my scene, or not?
Take it and go! Really, you know, you two
Are awfully funny!

[Exit COLUMBINE]

THYRSIS: Corydon, my friend,
I'm going to leave you now, and whittle me
A pipe, or sing a song, or go to sleep.
When you have come to your senses, let me know.
[Goes back to where he has been sitting, lies down and sleeps.]

[CORYDON, in going back to where he has been sitting, stumbles
over bowl of colored confetti and colored paper ribbons.]

CORYDON: Why, what is this?--Red stones--and purple stones--
And stones stuck full of gold!--The ground is full
Of gold and colored stones! . . . I'm glad the wall
Was up before I found them!--Otherwise,
I should have had to share them. As it is,
They all belong to me. . . . Unless--

[He goes to wall and digs up and down the length of it,
to see if there are jewels on the other side.]

None here--
None here--none here--They all belong to me!
[Sits.]

THYRSIS: [Awakening.] How curious! I thought the little black lamb
Came up and licked my hair; I saw the wool
About its neck as plain as anything!
It must have been a dream. The little black lamb
Is on the other side of the wall, I'm sure.

[Goes to wall and looks over. CORYDON is seated on the ground,
tossing the confetti up into the air and catching it.]

Hello, what's that you've got there, Corydon?

CORYDON: Jewels.

THYRSIS: Jewels?--And where did you ever get them?

CORYDON: Oh, over here.

THYRSIS: You mean to say you found them,
By digging around in the ground for them?

CORYDON: [Unpleasantly.] No, Thyrsis,
By digging down for water for my sheep.

THYRSIS: Corydon, come to the wall a minute, will you?
I want to talk to you.

CORYDON: I haven't time.
I'm making me a necklace of red stones.

THYRSIS: I'll give you all the water that you want,
For one of those red stones,--if it's a good one.

CORYDON: Water?--what for?--what do I want of water?

THYRSIS: Why, for your sheep!

CORYDON: My sheep?--I'm not a shepherd!

THYRSIS: Your sheep are dying of thirst.

CORYDON: Man, haven't I told you
I can't be bothered with a few untidy
Brown sheep all full of burdocks?--I'm a merchant.
That's what I am!--And if I set my mind to it
I dare say I could be an emperor!
[To himself.] Wouldn't I be a fool to spend my time
Watching a flock of sheep go up a hill,
When I have these to play with?--when I have these
To think about?--I can't make up my mind
Whether to buy a city, and have a thousand
Beautiful girls to bathe me, and be happy
Until I die, or build a bridge, and name it
The Bridge of Corydon,--and be remembered
After I'm dead.

THYRSIS: Corydon, come to the wall,
Won't you?--I want to tell you something.

CORYDON: Hush!
Be off! Be off! Go finish your nap, I tell you!

THYRSIS: Corydon, listen: if you don't want your sheep,
Give them to me.

CORYDON: Be off! Go finish your nap.
A red one--and a blue one--and a red one--
And a purple one--give you my sheep, did you say?--
Come, come! What do you take me for, a fool?
I've a lot of thinking to do,--and while I'm thinking,
The sheep might just as well be over here
As over there. . . . A blue one--and a red one--

THYRSIS: But they will die!

CORYDON: And a green one--and a couple
Of white ones, for a change.

THYRSIS: Maybe I have
Some jewels on my side.

CORYDON: And another green one--
Maybe, but I don't think so. You see, this rock
Isn't so very wide. It stops before
It gets to the wall. It seems to go quite deep,
However.

THYRSIS: [With hatred.] I see.

COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Look, Pierrot, there's the moon.

PIERROT: [Off stage.] Nonsense!

THYRSIS: I see.

COLUMBINE: [Off stage.] Sing me an old song, Pierrot,--
Something I can remember.

PIERROT: [Off stage.] Columbine.
Your mind is made of crumbs,--like an escallop
Of oysters,--first a layer of crumbs, and then
An oystery taste, and then a layer of crumbs.

Unfortunately, I have never read any of her plays, but have read a great amount of her poetry (of which she wrote a lot). Indeed, too, many have considered her a great feminist and contributor to the feminist movement of her time (that of the late 1800's and early 1900's); her bisexuality, though thought of as rather deviant in her time, seemed well known, despite that she eventually married.
If you want some general information of her, I recommend visiting here.
Good luck! ;)