I cannot but remember
When the year grows old—
October—November—
How she disliked the cold!
She used to watch the swallows
Go down across the sky,
And turn from the window
With a little sharp sigh.
And often when the brown leaves
Were brittle on the ground,
And the wind in the chimney
Made a melancholy sound,
She had a look about her
That I wish I could forget—
The look of a scared thing
Sitting in a net!
Oh, beautiful at nightfall
The soft spitting snow!
And beautiful the bare boughs
Rubbing to and fro!
But the roaring of the fire,
And the warmth of fur,
And the boiling of the kettle
Were beautiful to her!
I cannot but remember
When the year grows old —
October — November —
How she disliked the cold!
Thursday, November 18, 2004
When the Year Grows Old
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7 comments:
Sounds like winter is starting to set in there? Love the picture
what a picture!!!
what a gorgeous photo! amazing!
~JerseyGirl
http://journals.aol.com/cneinhorn/WonderGirl
I love Millay. She captures life's suffering better than most any other poet I know. This poem has a kind of brutal sadness, the swallows and the "little sharp sigh." Oh how I love those three words: little-sharp-sigh, how they compliment each other, creating a strong sensory impression. I can hear, with perfect clarity, that sigh! The "look of a scared thing/sitting in a net!" My goodness--the terror of being trapped by the season of death. That's life, though, isn't it? Trapped by the inevitability of our own death. And how we gaze toward it with many emotions, how we greet our own mortality with that sharp little sigh. The roaring of the fire--Excuse me for bringing this up, but knowing that you are a RATIONAL makes your choice of this poem make a lot of sense to me. Fire is logic, knowledge, discernment, all that makes life meaningful to a rational! It's a hauntingly beautful poem. Thank you for sharing it! --Theresa
Do you know of whom she was speaking? This sums up my feelings pretty much. It has been gray here lately although a bit warmer than is seasonal.
On a good sign though, it is only about a month until the Winter Solstice. The days will start getting longer and that makes me unbelievably happy.
Do you know of whom she was speaking? This sums up my feelings pretty much. >>
<<Then I guess the answer is: you and me.
there was a time, much earlier in my life, when i knew much of Millay by heart. this poem always makes me think of my mother. thank you for offering it.
journals.aol.com/marigolds2/thewindmillsofmymind
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