Explore "What Savage Blossom" by Edna St. Vincent Millay on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Do I not know what savage blossom only under the pitting hail / Of your inclement climate could have prospered? Here lie
Green leaves to wade in, and of the many roads not one road leading outward from this place / But is blocked by boughs that will hiss and simmer when they burn-green autumn, lady, green autumn on this land!
Do I not know what inward pressure only could inflate its petals to withstand / (No, no, not hate, not hate) the onslaught of a little time with you?
No, no, not love, not love. Call it by name, / Now that it's over, now that it is gone and cannot hear us.
It was an honest thing. Not noble. Yet no shame.