Dirge Without Music • National Poetry Month

Happy National Poetry Month! Is there a poem you'd like to see shared on this blog? Drop me a note and let me know, and enjoy this, the first of 30 days of poetry. Check back daily to get your daily dose of poetry!

Dirge Without Music

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. 

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Poetry Wednesday: What My Lips Have...

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII)

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.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Poetry Wednesday: When the Year Grows Old

When the Year Grows Old

 

I cannot but remember
  When the year grows old—
October—November—
  How she disliked the cold!

 

She used to watch the swallows
  Go down across the sky,
And turn from the window
  With a little sharp sigh.

 

And often when the brown leaves
  Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
  Made a melancholy sound,

 

She had a look about her
  That I wish I could forget—
The look of a scared thing
  Sitting in a net!

 

Oh, beautiful at nightfall
  The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
  Rubbing to and fro!

 

But the roaring of the fire,
  And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
  Were beautiful to her!

 

I cannot but remember
  When the year grows old—
October—November—
  How she disliked the cold!

- by Edna St. Vincent Millay

courtesy poets.org

Travel — National Poetry Month

Travel

The railroad track is miles away,     

      And the day is loud with voices speaking, 

Yet there isn't a train goes by all day     

      But I hear its whistle shrieking. 

All night there isn't a train goes by,     

      Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, 

But I see its cinders red on the sky,     

      And hear its engine steaming. 

My heart is warm with friends I make,     

      And better friends I'll not be knowing; 

Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take,     

      No matter where it's going.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay 

from Second April (1921), available online via Project Gutenberg

courtesy poets.org

All Hallow's Read — and What to Share

There are many reasons to like  author Neil Gaiman. All Hallow's Read is one of them.

All Hallow's Read is an excellent way to share the love of books and reading. If you love books and stories, then you love sharing those very things. (I know I do.) Neil Gaiman encourages that. In fact, he says — but wait, let me let him tell you himself.

Me, I share poetry. Every Halloween, trick-or-treaters receive not only good chocolate candy (the kind I'd eat, and usually do, until I have to give it away), but also a poem. I've shared the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Edna St. Vincent Millay. This year, I've chosen — wait. I can't tell you until Halloween.

What poems would you share for Halloween? (Note the plural. You don't have to stop at one.)

If you're looking for novels, I'd recommend one by the man himself, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, or the delightfully weird story John Dies at the End.

What are you reading for Halloween? Is it scary, gory or creepy? Spooky or just unusual? Let me know!

Hallowe'en, All Hallow's Read 2011

Happy Halloween!  Happy All Hallow's Read!  Here is the poem I will share with my neighborhood trick-or-treaters — by one of my favorite poets.  Enjoy!

The Little Ghost

I KNEW her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high -- higher than most --
And the green gate was locked.

And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone --
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.

By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown's white folds among.

I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do -- and oh!
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!

She bent above my favourite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled -- there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.

She held her gown on either side
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.

And where the wall is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused -- then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.

by Edna St Vincent Millay

Courtesy of Things That Go Boo!