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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.
Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poem “Weeds” is a compact yet richly layered meditation on nature, transience, and societal rejection. Through evocative imagery and a tone that oscillates between resignation and defiance, Millay crafts a work that interrogates the arbitrary distinctions between beauty and worthlessness, acceptance and exile. Written in the early 20th century—a period marked by both post-war disillusionment and burgeoning feminist thought—the poem reflects Millay’s characteristic blend of romanticism and modernist skepticism. This essay will explore the poem’s historical and cultural context, its use of literary devices, its central themes, and its emotional resonance, while also considering Millay’s biographical influences and possible philosophical underpinnings.
Millay wrote during a time of significant social upheaval. The aftermath of World War I, the rise of industrialization, and the shifting roles of women in society all informed her work. As a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet and a bohemian figure in Greenwich Village, Millay was both a product of and a reaction against the conventions of her time. “Weeds” can be read as a subtle critique of societal norms that marginalize the unwanted—whether in the form of literal weeds, social outcasts, or unconventional women.
The early 20th century also saw a renewed interest in nature poetry, though often tinged with modernist alienation. Unlike the Romantic idealization of nature, Millay’s depiction is ambivalent: the daisies and sorrel are beautiful yet “damnèd,” “worthless,” and “cursed.” This duality reflects a broader cultural tension between agrarian nostalgia and industrial progress, between the desire for purity and the reality of decay.
Millay’s poem is dense with contrasting imagery that underscores its thematic concerns. The opening lines—
“White with daisies and red with sorrel / And empty, empty under the sky!”—
immediately establish a scene that is at once vibrant and desolate. The repetition of “empty” suggests both spatial and existential solitude, reinforcing the speaker’s sense of detachment. The colors—white and red—evoke purity and passion, yet these are immediately undercut by the knowledge that these flowers are considered weeds, unwanted by the thrifty farmers who curse them.
The poem’s central metaphor—weeds as outcasts—is extended through personification and paradox. The sorrel “runs in ragged flame”, a phrase that conveys both wild beauty and destruction, while the daisy is called “a bastard flower”, a striking term that equates botanical illegitimacy with social stigma. Yet, in this space “unhated for an hour”, these rejected plants find temporary reprieve. This fleeting sanctuary mirrors the speaker’s own desire for respite from judgment.
Millay also employs religious and mythic language to elevate the weeds’ plight. The “damnèd seeds” and “blessed things” create a theological dichotomy, suggesting that value is not inherent but assigned by those in power (here, the farmers). The final lines—
“May sleep the sleep of blessed things / The blood too bright, the brow accurst.”—
evoke a kind of secular beatitude, where the condemned find peace precisely because they are outside human valuation. The phrase “the blood too bright, the brow accurst” could allude to mythological figures like Cain, marked for transgression, or even to the poet herself, whose brilliance often came with societal censure.
The most prominent theme in “Weeds” is the tension between societal rejection and individual resilience. The farmers’ perspective is one of utility—weeds are “cursed” because they threaten cultivated order. Yet the speaker identifies with these plants, finding in their temporary freedom a model for her own existence. This aligns with Millay’s broader poetic preoccupations; as a woman who defied conventional expectations in both her art and her personal life, she frequently explored themes of autonomy and defiance.
Another key theme is transience. The “hour” of reprieve is brief, and the “sleep of blessed things” suggests a momentary escape rather than permanent liberation. This ephemerality is poignant, acknowledging that societal judgments are inescapable in the long term. Yet there is also a quiet triumph in this fleeting peace—an assertion that even the reviled can, for a time, exist on their own terms.
The poem also engages with the idea of sanctuary. The space described is “empty under the sky”, a liminal zone where the usual rules do not apply. This recalls the pastoral tradition, though Millay subverts it: instead of an idyllic retreat, this is a place for the forsaken. The absence of “the baying of a pack athirst” (a possible metaphor for societal persecution) reinforces the relief of temporary escape.
Millay’s life offers compelling parallels to the poem’s themes. As a woman who embraced her sexuality and artistic ambition in an era that often punished such independence, she knew what it meant to be both celebrated and scorned. Her numerous love affairs, her bisexuality, and her refusal to conform to domestic ideals made her a controversial figure. In this light, “Weeds” can be read as a defiant assertion of self-worth despite societal condemnation.
Philosophically, the poem resonates with existentialist ideas—particularly the notion that meaning is not inherent but constructed. The weeds are only “worthless” because the farmers deem them so; in another context, they might be admired. This aligns with Millay’s modernist tendencies, which often questioned traditional hierarchies of value.
Millay’s “Weeds” can be fruitfully compared to other poems that explore marginalized beauty. John Clare’s “The Badger” similarly depicts an outcast creature persecuted by society, while Emily Dickinson’s “A narrow Fellow in the Grass” examines the fear and fascination elicited by the misunderstood. Like Millay, Dickinson often used botanical imagery to explore themes of exclusion and resilience.
A more contemporary parallel might be Mary Oliver’s “The Summer Day”, which also elevates the overlooked aspects of nature. However, where Oliver’s tone is one of reverence, Millay’s is more sardonic, acknowledging beauty while never forgetting its precariousness.
“Weeds” lingers in the mind because of its emotional complexity. It is neither wholly despairing nor optimistically redemptive; instead, it captures a fragile moment of respite. The speaker does not argue that the weeds are objectively beautiful or useful—only that, for now, they are “unhated”, and that is enough. This nuanced acceptance of temporary grace is deeply moving, offering a model for how one might navigate a world that often demands conformity.
Ultimately, Millay’s poem is a testament to the power of perspective. What is despised by one may be cherished by another; what is cursed in one moment may sleep like the blessed in the next. In its brevity, “Weeds” encapsulates a profound truth about resistance, resilience, and the fleeting nature of peace. It is a poem that invites us to reconsider what—and who—we dismiss, and to find, even in the margins, a kind of ragged, radiant defiance.
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