Sonnet IV I know I am but summer to your heart, And not the full four seasons of the year; And you must welcome from another part Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear. No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing; And I have… Continue reading Edna St. Vincent Millay
I know I am but summer to your heart / And not the full four seasons of the year. ― Edna St. Vincent Millay, from “Sonnet IV,” The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems. (Kessinger Publishing, LLC, July 26, 2004) Originally published 1920.
Summer was here again. Summer, summer, summer. I loved and hated summers. Summers had a logic all their own and they always brought something out in me. Summer was supposed to be about freedom and youth and no school and possibilities and adventure and exploration. Summer was a book of hope. That’s why I loved… Continue reading Benjamin Alire Sáenz
And the stars in it are dim and maybe have stopped burning. But you burn, and I know it; as I throw back my head to take you in an old transfusion happens again: divine astronomy is nothing to it. — Adrienne Rich, from “Orion,” Leaflets Poems 1965-1968. (W. W. Norton & Company; First Edition… Continue reading Adrienne Rich
She naturally loved solitary places, vast views, and to feel herself for ever and ever and ever alone. — Virginia Woolf, Orlando. (Penguin Classic; Abridged edition, October 3, 2000) Originally published October 11th 1928.
The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice. ― Virginia Woolf, Orlando. (Penguin Classic; Abridged edition, October 3, 2000) Originally published October 11th 1928.
The glow and beauty of the stars are nothing near the splendid moon when in her roundness she burns silver about the world. — Sappho, “133, FULL MOON,” The Classical Greek Reader. Trans. Willis Barnstone. (Oxford University Press; 1 edition, August 13, 1998)