Weeds

Edna St. Vincent Millay

White with daisies and red with sorrel
  And empty, empty under the sky!—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
  Here is a place for me to lie.

Daisies spring from damned seeds,
  And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
  Cursed by farmers thriftily.

But here, unhated for an hour,
  The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a bastard flower,
  Like flowers that bear an honest name.

And here a while, where no wind brings
  The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things,
  The blood too bright, the brow accurst.

Next 10 Poems

• Edna St. Vincent Millay : When I Too Long Have Looked Upon Your Face
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : When The Year Grows Old
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Wild Swans
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Witch-wife
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Wraith
• Joaquin Miller : At The Grave Of Walker
• Joaquin Miller : By The Pacific Ocean
• Joaquin Miller : Columbus
• Joaquin Miller : Crossing The Plains
• Joaquin Miller : Dead In The Sierras

Previous 10 Poems

• Edna St. Vincent Millay : We Talk Of Taxes, And I Call You Friend
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Travel
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : To The Not Impossible Him
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : To S. M.
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : To Kathleen
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : To A Poet That Died Young
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Time Does Not Bring Relief; You All Have Lied
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Thursday
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Three Songs Of Shattering
• Edna St. Vincent Millay : Thou Art Not Lovelier Than Lilacs,-no