Categories
- Antiques & Collectibles 13
- Architecture 36
- Art 47
- Bibles 22
- Biography & Autobiography 811
- Body, Mind & Spirit 110
- Business & Economics 26
- Computers 4
- Cooking 94
- Crafts & Hobbies 3
- Drama 346
- Education 45
- Family & Relationships 50
- Fiction 11812
- Games 19
- Gardening 17
- Health & Fitness 34
- History 1377
- House & Home 1
- Humor 147
- Juvenile Fiction 1873
- Juvenile Nonfiction 202
- Language Arts & Disciplines 88
- Law 16
- Literary Collections 686
- Literary Criticism 179
- Mathematics 13
- Medical 41
- Music 39
- Nature 179
- Non-Classifiable 1768
- Performing Arts 7
- Periodicals 1453
- Philosophy 62
- Photography 2
- Poetry 896
- Political Science 203
- Psychology 42
- Reference 154
- Religion 488
- Science 126
- Self-Help 61
- Social Science 80
- Sports & Recreation 34
- Study Aids 3
- Technology & Engineering 59
- Transportation 23
- Travel 463
- True Crime 29
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950) was an American poet and playwright known for her lyrical and passionate poetry. She gained fame with her first collection, "Renascence and Other Poems" (1917), and won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923 for "The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver." Millay was also a noted feminist and social activist, and her works often explored themes of love, death, and the struggle for artistic freedom. Her unique voice and bold style made her one of the most celebrated poets of her time.
Author's Books:
Sort by:
Second Fig Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand: Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand! Recuerdo We were very tired, we were very merry— We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry. It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable— But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table, We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon; And the whistles...
more...
SPRING To what purpose, April, do you return again?Beauty is not enough.You can no longer quiet me with the rednessOf little leaves opening stickily.I know what I know.The sun is hot on my neck as I observeThe 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 menEaten by maggots,Life in itselfIs...
more...
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, a macaroon! I cannot live without a macaroon! PIERROT: My only love, You are so intense! . . . Is it Tuesday, Columbine?— I'll kiss you if it's Tuesday. COLUMBINE: It is Wednesday, If you must know . . . . Is this my artichoke, Or yours? PIERROT: Ah, Columbine,—as if it mattered! Wednesday . . . . Will it be Tuesday, then, to-morrow, By any chance? COLUMBINE: To-morrow...
more...
ACT I Scene 1 [Scene: A garden of the palace at Fiori; four years later.] [Discovered seated Laura, Francesca and Fidelio, Laura embroidering,Fidelio strumming his flute, Francesca lost in thought.] LAURA. You,—Fool! If there be two chords to your lute,Give us the other for a time! FRANCESCA. And yet, Laura,I somewhat fancied that soft sound he made.'Twas all on the same tone,—but 'twas a...
more...
Renascence and Other Poems Renascence All I could see from where I stoodWas three long mountains and a wood;I turned and looked another way,And saw three islands in a bay.So with my eyes I traced the lineOf the horizon, thin and fine,Straight around till I was comeBack to where I'd started from;And all I saw from where I stoodWas three long mountains and a wood.Over these things I could not...
more...