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She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun ’tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.
Edna St. Vincent Millay’s Witch-Wife is a compact yet richly layered poem that distills themes of female autonomy, societal rebellion, and the irreducible complexity of human desire into four taut quatrains. Written during the early 20th century-a period of seismic shifts in gender roles and sexual expression-the poem channels Millay’s feminist ethos and biographical nonconformity into a portrait of a woman who defies categorization. Through vivid imagery, subversive symbolism, and a voice that oscillates between admiration and resignation, Millay crafts a work that resonates as both a personal manifesto and a broader cultural critique.
The 1920s, often termed the Jazz Age, marked a watershed moment for women’s liberation in America. The ratification of the 19th Amendment in 1920 granted suffrage, while the rise of the “New Woman” ideal celebrated economic independence and sexual agency. Millay, a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet and Greenwich Village bohemian, embodied this zeitgeist. Her open marriage to Eugen Boissevain, bisexuality, and rejection of domestic norms positioned her as a cultural iconoclast16. Witch-Wife, published in her 1920 collection A Few Figs from Thistles, emerges from this milieu, interrogating the tension between societal expectations and individual sovereignty.
The poem’s title invokes the witch archetype-a figure historically vilified for defying patriarchal control but reclaimed here as a symbol of unapologetic self-possession. Millay’s witch-wife exists outside conventional binaries (“neither pink nor pale”), rejecting the Victorian ideal of the “angel in the house” in favor of a more enigmatic, destabilizing identity. This aligns with the era’s growing fascination with the occult and the supernatural as metaphors for suppressed female power45.
Millay’s mastery of imagery transforms the witch-wife into a multisensory force. Descriptions like “her voice is a string of coloured beads” blend auditory and visual elements, evoking both allure and fragmentation. The beads-a traditional symbol of femininity-are reimagined as disjointed, suggesting the witch-wife’s resistance to being strung into a coherent narrative. Similarly, “steps leading into the sea” juxtaposes the mundane (steps) with the sublime (sea), hinting at the character’s capacity to dissolve boundaries between reality and myth410.
The poem’s structure reinforces its thematic duality. Each stanza pivots on contradictions:
Fairy-tale vs. Valentine: The witch-wife’s hands, “learned in a fairy-tale,” evoke ancient, otherworldly wisdom, while her mouth, shaped “on a valentine,” references performative romantic gestures. This dichotomy critiques the compartmentalization of women’s roles-as either mystical beings or objects of desire59.
Abundance vs. Danger: Her “more hair than she needs” symbolizes unruly vitality, yet in sunlight, it becomes “a woe to me,” underscoring the speaker’s helplessness against her allure. The sea imagery, often associated with the unconscious, suggests her capacity to engulf and transform10.
Central to the poem is the witch-wife’s refusal to be possessed: “she was not made for any man, / And she never will be all mine.” This declaration transcends romantic resignation, instead framing her autonomy as existential. Unlike the Petrarchan tradition, where the unattainable beloved is idealized, Millay’s witch-wife derives power from her elusiveness. She is not a passive muse but an active agent who “loves me all that she can” while retaining her irreducible selfhood49.
This theme mirrors Millay’s own life. Her marriage to Boissevain was famously open, with both partners pursuing extramarital relationships. In a 1921 letter, she wrote, “I will not be circumscribed by any domestic routine,” a sentiment echoed in the witch-wife’s resistance to being “resigned” to the speaker’s ways16. The poem thus becomes a meta-commentary on Millay’s negotiation of love and independence.
Critics like Nancy Milford have interpreted the witch-wife as a self-portrait, reflecting Millay’s “Jekyll-and-Hyde” duality as both a public figure and a private rebel79. The poem’s male speaker-a rare perspective in Millay’s work-adds complexity. By adopting this voice, Millay critiques the male gaze while destabilizing gendered authorship. The speaker’s awe and frustration (“In the sun ’tis a woe to me!”) reveal the limitations of patriarchal frameworks in comprehending female agency510.
The witch-wife’s lineage can be traced to literary precursors like Circe or La Belle Dame sans Merci, but Millay subverts these archetypes. Unlike Keats’s “faery’s child,” who enslaves men through enchantment, the witch-wife’s power lies in her refusal to be enslaved. This aligns with second-wave feminist readings that reclaim the witch as a symbol of resistance against misogynistic persecution47.
The poem’s emotional core lies in its tension between connection and solitude. The witch-wife’s love is genuine yet bounded (“She loves me all that she can”), acknowledging the impossibility of total fusion between individuals. This resonates with existentialist themes of alienation and self-definition, particularly Simone de Beauvoir’s assertion that “the individual is defined only by their relationship to the world and to other individuals.”
Millay’s language oscillates between reverence and melancholy. The final line-“And she never will be all mine”-is both a lament and a celebration. It acknowledges the pain of unattainability while affirming the witch-wife’s right to self-ownership. This duality reflects the broader human experience of loving without possessing, a theme that transcends gender and era910.
Comparing Witch-Wife to Millay’s First Fig (“My candle burns at both ends”) reveals shared motifs of transience and defiance. Both poems reject moderation, embracing intensity over longevity. However, Witch-Wife adds a relational dimension, exploring how self-assertion impacts intimacy.
In a broader context, the poem dialogues with modernist works like T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, which also employs fragmentation and myth. Yet Millay’s focus on female subjectivity contrasts with Eliot’s impersonal formalism, highlighting her unique contribution to early 20th-century literature68.
Witch-Wife endures as a testament to Millay’s ability to distill profound cultural and personal conflicts into crystalline verse. By intertwining biographical bravado with timeless archetypes, she crafts a portrait of womanhood that is both singular and universal. The poem’s power lies not in resolution but in its embrace of paradox-the witch-wife is lover and loner, enchanting and enigmatic, forever eluding the confines of definition. In an age still grappling with gender equity and the boundaries of selfhood, Millay’s work remains a clarion call for authenticity in the face of societal constraint.
Through its interplay of myth and modernity, Witch-Wife invites readers to confront the discomfort and beauty of loving what cannot be possessed-a lesson as vital today as in Millay’s Roaring Twenties.
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