So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.”—Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet and playwright Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950), “Sonnet IV,” in A Few Figs from Thistles: Poems and Sonnets (1922)
Born 130 years ago today
in Rockport, Maine, Edna St. Vincent Millay did not resort to modernist experimentation.
But, as seen here, her verses—particularly those of the first two decades of her
career—are skillfully written and emotionally accessible. In her frankness
about intimate subject matter, she opened the way for the more confessional
poets of the post-WWII era.