Weeds was featured in Millay's collection, Second April (1921).
     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 blessed things,
       The blood too bright, the brow accurst.


facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest

Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add Weeds to your own personal library.

Return to the Edna St. Vincent Millay Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; When the Year Grows Old

Anton Chekhov
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Susan Glaspell
Mark Twain
Edgar Allan Poe
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Herman Melville
Stephen Leacock
Kate Chopin
Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson