Poems (Millay)/Weeds

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Weeds

White with daisies and red with sorrel
 And empty, empty under the sky!—
Life is a quest and love a quarrel—
 Here is a place for me to lie.

Daisies spring from damnèd seeds,
 And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
 Cursed by farmers thriftily.

But here, unhated for an hour,
 The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a bastard flower,
 Like flowers that bear an honest name.

And here a while, where no wind brings
 The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things
 The blood too bright, the brow accurst,