Weeds

"Weeds" by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)
From Millay, Edna St. Vincent. Second April New York: Mitchell Kennerley, 1921. pp. 27-28.

[Page 27]

WEEDS

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 damnèd 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.

[Page 28]

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.