Poetry Sunday: Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay
This poem caught my eye last week for its line "Not only under ground are the brains of men eaten by maggots." Somehow it seemed particularly apropos for the events of the week. Edna St. Vincent Millay certainly had April's number - a month that "Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers." After all, what does April care about the silly affairs of humans? Spring by Edna St. Vincent Millay To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. But what does that signify? Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots. Life in itself Is nothing, An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.