Second April | Page 3

ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE
SECOND APRIL?BY?EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
TO?MY BELOVED FRIEND?CAROLINE B. DOW
CONTENTS
SPRING INLAND
CITY TREES TO A POET THAT DIED YOUNG
THE BLUE-FLAG IN THE BOG WRAITH
JOURNEY EBB
EEL-GRASS ELAINE
ELEGY BEFORE DEATH BURIAL
THE BEAN-STALK MARIPOSA
WEEDS THE LITTLE HILL
PASSER MORTUUS EST DOUBT NO MORE THAT OBERON
PASTORAL LAMENT
ASSAULT EXILED
TRAVEL THE DEATH OF AUTUMN
LOW-TIDE ODE TO SILENCE
SONG OF A SECOND APRIL MEMORIAL TO D. C.
ROSEMARY UNNAMED SONNETS I-XII
THE POET AND HIS BOOK WILD SWANS
ALMS
SECOND APRIL
SPRING
To what purpose, April, do you return again??Beauty is not enough.?You can no longer quiet me with the redness?Of little leaves opening stickily.?I know what I know.?The sun is hot on my neck as I observe?The spikes of the crocus.?The smell of the earth is good.?It is apparent that there is no death.?But what does that signify??Not only under ground are the brains of men?Eaten by maggots,?Life in itself?Is nothing,?An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.?It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,?April?Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
CITY TREES
The trees along this city street,?Save for the traffic and the trains,?Would make a sound as thin and sweet?As trees in country lanes.
And people standing in their shade?Out of a shower, undoubtedly?Would hear such music as is made?Upon a country tree.
Oh, little leaves that are so dumb?Against the shrieking city air,?I watch you when the wind has come,--?I know what sound is there.
THE BLUE-FLAG IN THE BOG
God had called us, and we came;?Our loved Earth to ashes left;?Heaven was a neighbor's house,?Open to us, bereft.
Gay the lights of Heaven showed,?And 'twas God who walked ahead;?Yet I wept along the road,?Wanting my own house instead.
Wept unseen, unheeded cried,?"All you things my eyes have kissed,?Fare you well! We meet no more,?Lovely, lovely tattered mist!
Weary wings that rise and fall?All day long above the fire!"--?Red with heat was every wall,?Rough with heat was every wire--
"Fare you well, you little winds?That the flying embers chase!?Fare you well, you shuddering day,?With your hands before your face!
And, ah, blackened by strange blight,?Or to a false sun unfurled,?Now forevermore goodbye,?All the gardens in the world!
On the windless hills of Heaven,?That I have no wish to see,?White, eternal lilies stand,?By a lake of ebony.
But the Earth forevermore?Is a place where nothing grows,--?Dawn will come, and no bud break;?Evening, and no blossom close.
Spring will come, and wander slow?Over an indifferent land,?Stand beside an empty creek,?Hold a dead seed in her hand."
God had called us, and we came,?But the blessed road I trod?Was a bitter road to me,?And at heart I questioned God.
"Though in Heaven," I said, "be all?That the heart would most desire,?Held Earth naught