Three Prize-Winning Poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay from St. Nicholas magazine, published in The Camden Herald
Transcribed by Lucia Graves
The Land of Romance
“Show me the road to Romance,” I cried, and he raised his head:
“I know not the road to Romance, child. ‘Tis a warm, bright way,” he said.
“And I trod it once with one whom I loved –with one who is long since dead.
But now – I forget – Ah! The way would be long without that one.”
And he lifted a long and trembling hand, to shield his eyes from the sun.
“Show me the road to Romance!” I cried, but she did not stir.
And I heard no sound in the low ceiled room save the spinning-wheel’s busy whirr.
Then came a voice from the down-bent head, from lips that I could not see.
“Oh! Why do you seek Romance? And why do you trouble me?
Little care I for your fancies. They will bring you no good” she said.
“Take the wheel that stands in the corner, and and get you to work, instead”
Then came one with steps so light that I had not heard their tread.
“I know where the road to Romance is. I will show it you,” she said.
She slipped her tiny hand in mine, and smiled up into my face
And lo’ a ray of the setting sun shone full upon the place
The little brook danced down the hill and the grass sprang up anew.
And tiny flowers peeper forth as fresh as if newly washed with dew
A little breeze came frolicking by, cooling the heated air
And the road to Romance stretched on before. Beckoning bright and fair
And I knew that just beyond it, in the hush of the dying day
The mossy walls and ivied towers of the land of Romance lay
The breath of dying lilies haunted the twilight air
And the sob of a dreaming violin filed the silence everywhere.
Published in the Camden Herald on March 8, 1907. “One of our smart and talented High School girls, Miss E. Vincent Millay, age 14, daughter of Mrs. Cora Buzzell Millay was awarded a gold badge by the Century Co., publisher of St. Nicholas Magazine, in their League contest for the best poem. Miss Millay is to be congratulated upon her success.”
Young Mother Hubbard
Young Mother Hubbard sent her maid to the cupboard
To get her French poodle some steak,
But when she got there the steak was too rare,
It’s a wonder their hearts did not break
Mother Hubbard cried “Oh, he will perish, I know!
He cannot eat that – the poor dear”
She tore her fair hair with a look of despair,
On her slipper-toe splashed a big tear.
“My precious! My pet! – Suzette! Quick! Suzette!
Run, run for the doctor, I pray!
My heart feels so queer!” she cried, “Oh! Oh, dear!”
And gracefully fainted away.
Suzette, the poor maid, had seen, I’m afraid,
Such swoons as this often before;
But she called up the old family doctor and told him
“Miladi” had fainted once more.
She then made her way to her mistress, who lay
On a couch which had chanced to be nigh;
And held to her nose priceless attar of rose,
And spilt eau-de-cologne in her eye.
Before evening came on, and the doctor had gone,
Miladi was helped to her feet.
And the poodle was deep in a satisfied sleep –
But they found not a trace of the meat.
Published in the Camden Herald on July 30, 1909. “E. Vincent Millay of this year’s High School graduating class has won another prize from the St. Nicholas Magazine, a silver badge. It was in a prize competition in poetry.”
Friends
HE
I’ve sat here all afternoon, watching her busy fingers send
That needle in and out. How soon, I wonder, will she reach the end?
Embroidery! I can’t see how a girl of Molly’s common sense
Can spend her time like that. Why, now–just look at that! I may be dense.
But, somehow, I don’t see the fun in punching lots of holes down through
A piece of cloth; and, one by one, sewing them up.
But Molly’ll do
A dozen of them, right around
That shapeless bit of stuff she’s found.
A dozen of them! Just like that!
And thinks it’s sense she’s working at
But, then, she’s just a girl (although she’s quite the best one of the lot),
And I’ll just have to let her sew, whether it’s foolishness or not.
II. SHE
He’s sat there all the afternoon, talking about an awful game:
One boy will not be out till June, and then he may always be lame.
Football! I’m sure I can’t see why a boy like Bob – so good and kind
Wishes to see poor fellows lie hurt on the ground. I may be blind.
But, somehow, I don’t see the fun. Someone calls, “14-16-9”;
You kick the ball, and then you run and try to reach a white chalk-line.
And Bob would sit right there all day
And talk like that, and never say
A single word of sense; or so
It seems to me. I may not know
But Bob’s a faithful friend to me. So let him talk that game detested.
And I will smile and seem to be most wonderfully interested!
Published in the Camden Herald, April 22, 1910. “Miss Vincent Millay, the bright Camden girl that has won two prizes offered by St. Nicholas, has now won a five dollar cash prize for the best poem.”
