A man in a chopper mustache says nothing but sits and points to the Guinness tap, which is good enough for service. Then he orders the sheep gut soup and sucks where teeth were.
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends�
It gives a lovely light!
Millay wrote and performed and, as Edmund Wilson writes, she fascinated. One man she fascinated (she fascinated women, too) was Wilson, who called her "one of the only poets writing in English in our time [the first half of the 20th century] who have attained to anything like the stature of great literary figures in an age in which prose has predominated."
But Wilson had chased her, loved her, proposed to her, and was writing about her soon after her death a long time ago. Millay is now far, far out of fashion. Even the name Edna has grown old-fashioned and ugly without changing. She is not likely to be allowed back into fashion except (and you get the feeling the poet would not have liked this) for reasons unrelated to her poetry. Still, no one will know if you sneak out and read her a little on her birthday.
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 the 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.
Work Without Hope
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair�
The bees are stirring�birds are on the wing�
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.
Tell me, tell me, what did you do to me?
I just got a thrill that was new to me,
when your two lips were pressed to mine.
When you held me, I wasn't snuggling.
You should know I really was struggling.
I�ve only met you, and I shouldn't let you, but...
Oh, do it again.
I may say, "no, no, no, no, no,"
But do it again.
My lips just ache
to have you take
the kiss that's waiting for you.
You know if you do,
you won't regret it.
Come and get it.
Oh, no one is near.
I may cry, "oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,"
But no one will hear.
My mom will scold me
'cause she told me
that it's naughty, but then...
Oh, do it again!
Please do it again!
One CD, over and over, all month.
If You Can Get It
Nightlight Saving Time
...once I went so far as to slaughter a woodchuck which ravaged my bean-field - effect his transmigration, as a Tartar would say - and devour him, partly for experiment's sake; but though it afforded me a momentary enjoyment, notwithstanding a musky flavor, I saw that the longest use would not make that a good practice, however it might seem to have your woodchucks ready dressed by the village butcher.
As I came home through the woods with my string of fish, trailing my pole, it being now quite dark, I caught a glimpse of a woodchuck stealing across my path, and felt a strange thrill of savage delight, and was strongly tempted to seize and devour him raw; not that I was hungry then, except for that wildness which he represented.
I am on the alert for the first signs of spring, to hear the chance note of some arriving bird, or the striped squirrel's chirp, for his stores must be now nearly exhausted, or see the woodchuck venture out of his winter quarters.
Venture out, see Thoreau's shadow, and retreat for another six weeks.