Viola Fair Website   

 

Sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay

From Wine from These Grapes

Epitaph for the Race of Man

I

Before this cooling planet shall be cold,

Long, long before the music of the Lyre,

Like the faint roar of distant breakers rolled

On reefs unseen, when wind and flood conspire

To drive the ships inshore — long, long, I say,

Before this ominous humming hits the ear,

Earth will have come upon a stiller day,

Man and his engines be no longer here.

High on his naked rock the mountain sheep

Will stand alone against the final sky,

Drinking a wind of danger new and deep,

Staring on Vega with a piercing eye,

And gather up his slender hooves and leap

From crag to crag down Chaos, and so go by.

 

II

When Death was young and bleaching bones were few,

A moving hill against the risen day

The dinosaur at morning made his way,

And dropped his dung along the blazing dew;

Trees with no name that now are agate grew

Lushly beside him in the steamy clay;

He woke and hungered, rose and stalked his prey,

And slept contented, in a world he knew.

In punctual season, with the race in mind,

His consort held aside her heavy tail,

And took the seed; and heard the seed confined

Roar in her womb; and made a nest to hold

A hatched-out conqueror . . . but to no avail:

The veined and fertile eggs are long since cold.

 

III

Cretaceous bird, your giant claw no lime

From bark of holly bruised or mistletoe

Could have arrested, could have held you so

Through fifty million years of jostling time;

Yet cradled with you in the catholic slime

Of the young ocean's tepid lapse and flow

Slumbered an agent, weak in embryo,

Should grip you straitly, in its sinewy prime.

What bright collision in the zodiac brews,

What mischief dimples at the planet's core

For shark, for python, for the dove that coos

Under the leaves? — what frosty fate's in store

For the warm blood of man, — man, out of ooze

But lately crawled, and climbing up the shore?

 

IV

O EARTH, unhappy planet born to die,

Might I your scribe and your confessor be,

What wonders must you not relate to me

Of Man, who when his destiny was high

Strode like the sun into the middle sky

And shone an hour, and who so bright a he,

And like the sun went down into the sea,

Leaving no spark to be remembered by.

But no; you have not learned in all these years

To tell the leopard and the newt apart;

Man, with his singular laughter, his droll tears,

His engines and his conscience and his art,

Made but a simple sound upon your ears:

The patient beating of the animal heart.

 

V

When man is gone and only gods remain

To stride the world, their mighty bodies hung

With golden shields, and golden curls outflung

Above their childish foreheads; when the plain

Round skull of Man is lifted and again

Abandoned by the ebbing wave, among

The sand and pebbles of the beach, — what tongue

Will tell the marvel of the human brain?

Heavy with music once this windy shell,

Heavy with knowledge of the clustered stars;

The one-time tenant of this draughty hall

Himself, in learned pamphlet, did foretell,

After some aeons of study jarred by wars,

This toothy gourd, this head emptied of all.

 

VI

See where Capella with her golden kids

Grazes the slope between the east and north?

Thus when the builders of the pyramids

Flung down their tools at nightfall and poured forth

Homeward to supper and a poor man's bed,

Shortening the road with friendly jest and slur,

The risen She-Goat showing blue and red

Climbed the clear dusk, and three stars followed her.

Safe in their linen and their spices lie

The kings of Egypt; even as long ago

Under these constellations, with long eye

And scented limbs they slept, and feared no foe.

Their will was law; their will was not to die:

And so they had their way; or nearly so.

 

VII

He heard the coughing tiger in the night

Push at his door; close by his quiet head

About the wattled cabin the soft tread

Of heavy feet he followed, and the slight

Sigh of the long banana leaves; in sight

At last and leaning westward overhead

The Centaur and the Cross now heralded

The sun, far off but marching, bringing light.

What time the Centaur and the Cross were spent

Night and the beast retired into the hill,

Whereat serene and undevoured he lay,

And dozed and stretched and listened and lay still,

Breathing into his body with content

The temperate dawn before the tropic day.

 Back to Millay

 

 

Art        Internet        Music        Poetry        Vaping

Site Map

 

vfssmail (at) gmaill (dot) com