Explore "Second April: ELEGY" by Edna St. Vincent Millay on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Let them bury your big eyes
In the secret earth securely,
Your thin fingers, and your fair, / Soft, indefinite-colored hair, -- / All of these in some way, surely, / From the secret earth shall rise; / Not for these I sit and stare, / Broken and bereft completely; / Your young flesh that sat so neatly / On your little bones will sweetly / Blossom in the air.
But your voice, -- never the rushing / Of a river underground, / Not the rising of the wind / In the trees before the rain, / Not the woodcock's watery call, / Not the note the white-throat utters, / Not the feet of children pushing / Yellow leaves along the gutters / In the blue and bitter fall, / Shall content my musing mind / For the beauty of that sound / That in no new way at all / Ever will be heard again.
Sweetly through the sappy stalk / Of the vigorous weed, / Holding all it held before, / Cherished by the faithful sun, / On and on eternally / Shall your altered fluid run, / Bud and bloom and go to seed; / But your singing days are done; / But the music of your talk / Never shall the chemistry / Of the secret earth restore. / All your lovely words are spoken. / Once the ivory box is broken, / Beats the golden bird no more.