A Poem to a Poet
I am a poet, I have had my day
For I have written one immortal line;
Nor Greek nor Latin ever wrote more fine—
The Poem: Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Cora Millay, “A Poet to A Poem,” quoted in Nancy Milford’s biography of Vincent
You had pleasure at my making, happiness
rolling in foam that on the scalloped shore
raises to a gull shout and creaking oar
an astonishing figure in an astonishing dress.
Hardship you had also, the heavy progress
from island to wild island, store to store,
to have shut in your face the frightened door,
before one dared receive you, your largesse.
Mother! The name is too small for a lover,
like Hestia who yielded her throne and fled.
For dandelions, mustard, pig-weed, clover,
abandoning the flowers of marriage bed,
you search, jealous as Hera, the world all over.
I am the best thought springing from your head.