Explore "Weeds" by Edna St. Vincent Millay on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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 blessèd things, / The blood too bright, the brow accurst.