{"product_id":"the-selected-poetry-of-edna-st-vincent-millay-isbn-9780375761232","title":"The Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay","description":"\u003cb\u003eAn indispensable collection of the groundbreaking poet’s most masterful and innovative work, celebrating a bold early voice of female liberation, independence, and queer sexuality—featuring a new introduction by poet Olivia Gatwood, author of \u003ci\u003eLife of the Party\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eEdna St. Vincent Millay defined a generation as one of the most critically acclaimed poets of the Modernist era. Her work pushed boundaries within the literary canon for its lyrical expression of female embodiment and progressive feminist politics, and she was honored as only the third woman to be awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay\u003c\/i\u003e demonstrates Millay’s legacy and influence on contemporary poetry. Sometimes satirical, often sharp, and always striking, the poems in this collection span Millay’s remarkable career, from the success of \u003ci\u003eRenascence and Other Poems\u003c\/i\u003e to the sting of \u003ci\u003eA Few Figs from Thistles\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eSecond April\u003c\/i\u003e, as well as “The Ballad of the Harp-Weaver” and eight sonnets from the early twenties. Millay’s incandescent poetry continues to inspire today as broadly and deeply as during her lifetime.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Modern Library Torchbearers series features women who wrote on their own terms, with boldness, creativity, and a spirit of resistance.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAMERICAN INDIAN STORIES • THE AWAKENING • THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY • THE HEADS OF CERBERUS • LADY AUDLEY’S SECRET • LOVE, ANGER, MADNESS • PASSING • THE TRANSFORMATION OF PHILIP JETTAN • VILLETTE • THERE IS CONFUSION • THE SELECTED POEMS OF EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAYBiographical Note\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIntroduction by Nancy Milford\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRENASCENCE AND OTHER POEMS\u003cbr\u003eRenascence\u003cbr\u003eInterim\u003cbr\u003eThe Suicide\u003cbr\u003eGod’s World\u003cbr\u003eAfternoon on a Hill\u003cbr\u003eSorrow\u003cbr\u003eTavern\u003cbr\u003eAshes of Life\u003cbr\u003eThe Little Ghost\u003cbr\u003eKing to Sorrow\u003cbr\u003eThree Songs of Shattering\u003cbr\u003eI.The first rose on my rose-tree\u003cbr\u003eII.Let the little birds sing\u003cbr\u003eIII.All the dog-wood blossoms are underneath the tree!\u003cbr\u003eThe Shroud\u003cbr\u003eThe Dream\u003cbr\u003eIndifference\u003cbr\u003eWitch-Wife\u003cbr\u003eBlight\u003cbr\u003eWhen the Year Grows Old\u003cbr\u003eSonnets\u003cbr\u003eI.Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,--no\u003cbr\u003eII.Time does not bring relief; you all have lied\u003cbr\u003eIII.Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring\u003cbr\u003eIV.Not in this chamber only at my birth\u003cbr\u003eV.If I should learn, in some quite casual way\u003cbr\u003eVI.Bluebeard\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA FEW FIGS FROM THISTLES\u003cbr\u003eFirst Fig\u003cbr\u003eSecond Fig\u003cbr\u003eRecuerdo\u003cbr\u003eThursday\u003cbr\u003eTo the Not Impossible Him\u003cbr\u003eMacDougal Street\u003cbr\u003eThe Singing Woman from the Wood’s Edge\u003cbr\u003eShe Is Overheard Singing\u003cbr\u003eThe Prisoner\u003cbr\u003eThe Unexplorer\u003cbr\u003eGrown-up\u003cbr\u003eThe Penitent\u003cbr\u003eDaphne\u003cbr\u003ePortrait by a Neighbor\u003cbr\u003eMidnight Oil\u003cbr\u003eThe Merry Maid\u003cbr\u003eTo Kathleen\u003cbr\u003eTo S.M.\u003cbr\u003eThe Philosopher\u003cbr\u003eSonnets\u003cbr\u003eI.Love, though for this you riddle me with darts\u003cbr\u003eII.I think I should have loved you presently\u003cbr\u003eIII.Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow!\u003cbr\u003eIV.I shall forget you presently, my dear\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSECOND APRIL\u003cbr\u003eSpring\u003cbr\u003eCity Trees\u003cbr\u003eThe Blue-Flag in the Bog\u003cbr\u003eJourney\u003cbr\u003eEel-Grass\u003cbr\u003eElegy Before Death\u003cbr\u003eThe Bean-Stalk\u003cbr\u003eWeeds\u003cbr\u003ePasser Mortuus Est\u003cbr\u003ePastoral\u003cbr\u003eAssault \u003cbr\u003eTravel\u003cbr\u003eLow-Tide\u003cbr\u003eSong of a Second April\u003cbr\u003eRosemary\u003cbr\u003eThe Poet and his Book\u003cbr\u003eAlms\u003cbr\u003eInland\u003cbr\u003eTo a Poet that Died Young\u003cbr\u003eWraith\u003cbr\u003eEbb\u003cbr\u003eElaine\u003cbr\u003eBurial\u003cbr\u003eMariposa\u003cbr\u003eThe Little Hill\u003cbr\u003eDoubt No More that Oberon\u003cbr\u003eLament \u003cbr\u003eExiled\u003cbr\u003eThe Death of Autumn\u003cbr\u003eOde to Silence\u003cbr\u003eMemorial to D.C.\u003cbr\u003eEpitaph\u003cbr\u003ePrayer to Persephone\u003cbr\u003eChorus\u003cbr\u003eElegy \u003cbr\u003eDirge\u003cbr\u003eSonnets\u003cbr\u003eI.We talk of taxes, and I call you friend\u003cbr\u003eII.Into the golden vessel of great song\u003cbr\u003eIII.Not with libations, but with shouts and laughter\u003cbr\u003eIV.Only until this cigarette is ended\u003cbr\u003eV.Once more into my arid days like dew\u003cbr\u003eVI.No rose that in a garden ever grew\u003cbr\u003eVII.When I too long have looked upon your face\u003cbr\u003eVIII.And you as well must die, beloved dust\u003cbr\u003eIX.Let you not say of me, when I am old\u003cbr\u003eX.Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this\u003cbr\u003eXI.As to some lovely temple, tenantless\u003cbr\u003eXII.Cherish you then the hope I shall forget\u003cbr\u003eWild Swans\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSONNETS AND THE BALLAD OF THE HARP-WEAVER\u003cbr\u003eSonnets\u003cbr\u003eWhen you, that at this moment are to me\u003cbr\u003eI know I am but summer to your heart\u003cbr\u003eOh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!\u003cbr\u003eHere is a wound that never will heal, I know\u003cbr\u003eSay what you will, and scratch my heart to find\u003cbr\u003eWhat lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why\u003cbr\u003eEuclid along has looked on Beauty bare\u003cbr\u003eThe Ballad of the Harp-Weaver\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIndices“Edna St. Vincent Millay seems to me one of the only poets writing in English in our time who have attained anything like the stature of great literary figures.”—\u003cb\u003eEdmund Wilson\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eEdna St. Vincent Millay\u003c\/b\u003e was born in Maine in 1892 and died in New York in 1950. A popular poet and playwright, she was also known for her unconventional lifestyle and her many love affairs. She received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923, and in 1943 she was awarded the Frost Medal for her lifetime contribution to American poetry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eNancy Milford\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of \u003ci\u003eSavage Beauty,\u003c\/i\u003e an iconic portrait of the extraordinary private life of Edna St. Vincent Millay.   Her previous book, \u003ci\u003eZelda\u003c\/i\u003e, was a number one \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestseller and a finalist   for the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award. She lives in New York City.\u003cb\u003eRenascence and Other Poems\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRenascence\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll I could see from where I stood\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWas three long mountains and a wood;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI turned and looked another way,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd saw three islands in a bay.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo with my eyes I traced the line\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf the horizon, thin and fine,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStraight around till I was come\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBack to where I’d started from;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd all I saw from where I stood\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWas three long mountains and a wood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOver these things I could not see;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThese were the things that bounded me;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I could touch them with my hand,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAlmost, I thought, from where I stand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd all at once things seemed so small\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy breath came short, and scarce at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut, sure, the sky is big, I said;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMiles and miles above my head;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo here upon my back I’ll lie\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd look my fill into the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd so I looked, and, after all,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sky was not so very tall.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sky, I said, must somewhere stop,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd—sure enough!—I see the top!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sky, I thought, is not so grand;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI ’most could touch it with my hand!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd reaching up my hand to try,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI screamed to feel it touch the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI screamed, and—lo!—Infinity\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCame down and settled over me;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eForced back my scream into my chest,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBent back my arm upon my breast,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd, pressing of the Undefined\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe definition on my mind,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHeld up before my eyes a glass\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThrough which my shrinking sight did pass\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUntil it seemed I must behold\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eImmensity made manifold;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhispered to me a word whose sound\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDeafened the air for worlds around,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd brought unmuffled to my ears\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe gossiping of friendly spheres,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe creaking of the tented sky,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe ticking of Eternity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI saw and heard, and knew at last\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe How and Why of all things, past,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd present, and forevermore.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Universe, cleft to the core,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLay open to my probing sense\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat, sick’ning, I would fain pluck thence\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut could not,—nay! But needs must suck\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the great wound, and could not pluck\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy lips away till I had drawn\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll venom out.—Ah, fearful pawn!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor my omniscience paid I toll\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn infinite remorse of soul.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll sin was of my sinning, all\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAtoning mine, and mine the gall\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf all regret. Mine was the weight\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf every brooded wrong, the hate\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat stood behind each envious thrust,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMine every greed, mine every lust.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd all the while for every grief,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEach suffering, I craved relief\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith individual desire,—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCraved all in vain! And felt fierce fire\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAbout a thousand people crawl;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePerished with each,—then mourned for all!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA man was starving in Capri;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe moved his eyes and looked at me;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI felt his gaze, I heard his moan,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd knew his hunger as my own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI saw at sea a great fog bank\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBetween two ships that struck and sank;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA thousand screams the heavens smote;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd every scream tore through my throat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo hurt I did not feel, no death\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat was not mine; mine each last breath\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat, crying, met an answering cry\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the compassion that was I.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll suffering mine, and mine its rod;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMine, pity like the pity of God.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAh, awful weight! Infinity\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePressed down upon the finite Me!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy anguished spirit, like a bird,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBeating against my lips I heard;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYet lay the weight so close about\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was no room for it without.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd so beneath the weight lay I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd suffered death, but could not die.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLong had I lain thus, craving death,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen quietly the earth beneath\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGave way, and inch by inch, so great\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt last had grown the crushing weight,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInto the earth I sank till I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFull six feet under ground did lie,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd sank no more,—there is no weight\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCan follow here, however great.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom off my breast I felt it roll,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd as it went my tortured soul\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBurst forth and fled in such a gust\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat all about me swirled the dust.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDeep in the earth I rested now,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCool is its hand upon the brow\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd soft its breast beneath the head\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf one who is so gladly dead.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd all at once, and over all\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe pitying rain began to fall;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI lay and heard each pattering hoof\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUpon my lowly, thatchèd roof,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd seemed to love the sound far more\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThan ever I had done before.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor rain it hath a friendly sound\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo one who’s six feet underground;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd scarce the friendly voice or face:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA grave is such a quiet place.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe rain, I said, is kind to come\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd speak to me in my new home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI would I were alive again\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo kiss the fingers of the rain,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo drink into my eyes the shine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf every slanting silver line,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo catch the freshened, fragrant breeze\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom drenched and dripping apple-trees.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor soon the shower will be done,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd then the broad face of the sun\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWill laugh above the rain-soaked earth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUntil the world with answering mirth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShakes joyously, and each round drop\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow can I bear it; buried here,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhile overhead the sky grows clear\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd blue again after the storm?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eO, multi-colored, multi-form,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBeloved beauty over me,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat I shall never, never see\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAgain! Spring-silver, autumn-gold,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat I shall never more behold!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSleeping your myriad magics through,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eClose-sepulchred away from you!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eO God, I cried, give me new birth,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd put me back upon the earth!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUpset each cloud’s gigantic gourd\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd let the heavy rain, down-poured\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn one big torrent, set me free,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWashing my grave away from me!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI ceased; and through the breathless hush\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat answered me, the far-off rush\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf herald wings came whispering\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike music down the vibrant string\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf my ascending prayer, and—crash!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore the wild wind’s whistling lash\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe startled storm-clouds reared on high\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd plunged in terror down the sky,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the big rain in one black wave\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFell from the sky and struck my grave.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI know not how such things can be;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI only know there came to me\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA fragrance such as never clings\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo aught save happy living things;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA sound as of some joyous elf\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSinging sweet songs to please himself,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd, through and over everything,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA sense of glad awakening.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhispering to me I could hear;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI felt the rain’s cool finger-tips\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrushed tenderly across my lips,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLaid gently on my sealèd sight,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd all at once the heavy night\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFell from my eyes and I could see,—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA drenched and dripping apple-tree,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA last long line of silver rain,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA sky grown clear and blue again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd as I looked a quickening gust\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf wind blew up to me and thrust\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInto my face a miracle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf orchard-breath, and with the smell,—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI know not how such things can be!—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI breathed my soul back into me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAh! Up then from the ground sprang I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd hailed the earth with such a cry\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs is not heard save from a man\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWho has been dead, and lives again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAbout the trees my arms I wound;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLike one gone mad I hugged the ground;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI raised my quivering arms on high;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI laughed and laughed into the sky,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTill at my throat a strangling sob\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCaught fiercely, and a great heart-throb\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSent instant tears into my eyes;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eO God, I cried, no dark disguise\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCan e’er hereafter hide from me\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThy radiant identity!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThou canst not move across the grass\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut my quick eyes will see Thee pass,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNor speak, however silently,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut my hushed voice will answer Thee.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI know the path that tells Thy way\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThrough the cool eve of every day;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGod, I can push the grass apart\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd lay my finger on Thy heart!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe world stands out on either side\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo wider than the heart is wide;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAbove the world is stretched the sky,—\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo higher than the soul is high.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe heart can push the sea and land\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFarther away on either hand;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe soul can split the sky in two,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd let the face of God shine through.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut East and West will pinch the heart\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat can not keep them pushed apart;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd he whose soul is flat—the sky\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWill cave in on him by and by.","brand":"Modern Library","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301066232037,"sku":"NP9780375761232","price":16.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375761232.jpg?v=1767741441","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-selected-poetry-of-edna-st-vincent-millay-isbn-9780375761232","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}