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“Spring” by Edna St. Vincent Millay (Lucky Words 2025, episode 2)
Text of poem
“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 crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under the 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.
Get full access to Lucky Words at luckywords.substack.com/subscribe
Recorded (and edited and posted!) while on site on the banks of the Provo River, on the morning of April 8, 2025.
Notes and thoughts
This is one grumpy poem about springtime, don’t you think? Millay is always a gutsy poet, and likes to poke you in the eye. What a gem.
What is she so grumpy about? Maybe it’s just me, but when I read the news today, sometimes I feel the same tension between the budding spring and the mean spirited chaos from all three branches of government. Amidst all the selfishness and greed, April’s new life might feel like the work of an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
Millay won the Pulitzer in 1923 and died in 1950.
Get full access to Lucky Words at luckywords.substack.com/subscribe
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By Jeffrey Windsor
5
88 ratings
Text of poem
“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 crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under the 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.
Get full access to Lucky Words at luckywords.substack.com/subscribe
Recorded (and edited and posted!) while on site on the banks of the Provo River, on the morning of April 8, 2025.
Notes and thoughts
This is one grumpy poem about springtime, don’t you think? Millay is always a gutsy poet, and likes to poke you in the eye. What a gem.
What is she so grumpy about? Maybe it’s just me, but when I read the news today, sometimes I feel the same tension between the budding spring and the mean spirited chaos from all three branches of government. Amidst all the selfishness and greed, April’s new life might feel like the work of an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
Millay won the Pulitzer in 1923 and died in 1950.
Get full access to Lucky Words at luckywords.substack.com/subscribe