Danielle

“Great cutting edge,
indifferent to tissue
Great stamping mass,
indifferent to the cry of crushed bones,
Grant us your hardness:
We would be as prompt to suffer
As you to inflict our suffering!

Light flashes out
from your whirling blades
Heads bow to the earth
before your harvesting:
Heads of grain, heads of men and women.
Grant us your hardness and bright surface.

Be with us in the hour of our processing.

- Hymn to Steel: for 5 million human voices”
― John Wain, Wildtrack

“I do believe the most of me
Floats under water; and men see
Above the wave a jagged small
Mountain of ice, and that is all.
Only the depths of other peaks

May know my substance when it speaks,
And steadfast through the grinding jam
Remain aware of what I am.
Myself, I think, shall never know
How far beneath the wave I go.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems

“How shall I know, unless I go
To Cairo and Cathay,
Whether or not this blessed spot
Is blest in every way?

Now it may be, the flower for me
Is this beneath my nose;
How shall I tell, unless I smell
The Carthaginian rose?

The fabric of my faithful love
No power shall dim or ravel
Whilst I stay here,—but oh, my dear,
If I should ever travel!”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Even in the Moment of Our Earliest Kiss

Even in the moment of our earliest kiss,
When sighed the straitened bud into the flower,
Sat the dry seed of most unwelcome this;
And that I knew, though not the day and hour.
Too season-wise am I, being country-bred,
To tilt at autumn or defy the frost:
Snuffing the chill even as my fathers did,
I say with them, "What’s out tonight is lost."
I only hoped, with the mild hope of all
Who watch the leaf take shape upon the tree,
A fairer summer and a later fall
Than in these parts a man is apt to see,
And sunny clusters ripened for the wine:
I tell you this across the blackened vine.”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems