eglantine_br (eglantine_br) wrote,

Because you cannot have too much Millay

This one is from the old battered book, given to me by the mother of a boy I liked. I doubt the woman remembers me at all, I was just one more girl who stood in her kitchen, because of her handsome son. But her kindness made a difference. The little book went away to school with me, and it was a great comfort, and an example of really good writing. I learned about rhythm and beat from Kipling and Millay. I have no doubt been a poor student, but they show how it can be done.

I CANNOT but remember
   When the year grows old—
   How she disliked the cold!
She used to watch the swallows        5
   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,        10
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        15
   Sitting in a net!
Oh, beautiful at nightfall
   The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
   Rubbing to and fro!        20
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        25
   When the year grows old—
   How she disliked the cold!
Tags: real life

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