Second April by Edna St. Vincent Millay

[lightreads]

Poetry, from the middle period of Millay's life. I loved it, but then again I always do with her. I have a marked preference for her sonnets -- the longer
poems are equally beautiful in diction and image, but the repetitive, sing-songy pattern which made Millay famous and which I like very much is something
of a detriment over a hundred lines, pushing the poem down into consciousness so all you actively perceive is the rhythm. But yes, I love the sonnets and
Millay herself, her bravado, her cunning, her brazen sexuality, her wistful view of the human condition.