'The Suicide' by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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"Curse thee, Life, I will live with thee no more!
Thou hast mocked me, starved me, beat my body sore!
And all for a pledge that was not pledged by me,
I have kissed thy crust and eaten sparingly
That I might eat again, and met thy sneers
With deprecations, and thy blows with tears,—
Aye, from thy glutted lash, glad, crawled away,
As if spent passion were a holiday!
And now I go. Nor threat, nor easy vow
Of tardy kindness can avail thee now
With me, whence fear and faith alike are flown;
Lonely I came, and I depart alone,
And know not where nor unto whom I go;
But that thou canst not follow me I know."

Thus I to Life, and ceased; but through my brain
My thought ran still, until I spake again:

"Ah, but I go not as I came,—no trace
Is mine to bear away of that old grace
I brought! I have been heated in thy fires,
Bent by thy hands, fashioned to thy desires,
Thy mark is on me! I am not the same
Nor ever more shall be, as when I came.
Ashes am I of all that once I seemed.
In me all's sunk that leapt, and all that dreamed
Is wakeful for alarm,—oh, shame to thee,
For the ill change that thou hast wrought in me,
Who laugh no more nor lift my throat to sing
Ah, Life, I would have been a pleasant thing
To have about the house when I was grown
If thou hadst left my little joys alone!
I asked of thee no favor save this one:
That thou wouldst leave me playing in the sun!
And this thou didst deny, calling my name
Insistently, until I rose and came.
I saw the sun no more.—It were not well
So long on these unpleasant thoughts to dwell,
Need I arise to-morrow and renew
Again my hated tasks, but I am through
With all things save my thoughts and this one night,
So that in truth I seem already quite
Free,and remote from thee,—I feel no haste
And no reluctance to depart; I taste
Merely, with thoughtful mien, an unknown draught,
That in a little while I shall have quaffed."

Thus I to Life, and ceased, and slightly smiled,
Looking at nothing; and my thin dreams filed
Before me one by one till once again
I set new words unto an old refrain:

"Treasures thou hast that never have been mine!
Warm lights in many a secret chamber shine
Of thy gaunt house, and gusts of song have blown
Like blossoms out to me that sat alone!
And I have waited well for thee to show
If any share were mine,—and now I go
Nothing I leave, and if I naught attain
I shall but come into mine own again!"

Thus I to Life, and ceased, and spake no more,
But turning, straightway, sought a certain door
In the rear wall. Heavy it was, and low
And dark,—a way by which none e'er would go
That other exit had, and never knock
Was heard thereat,—bearing a curious lock
Some chance had shown me fashioned faultily,
Whereof Life held content the useless key,
And great coarse hinges, thick and rough with rust,
Whose sudden voice across a silence must,
I knew, be harsh and horrible to hear,—
A strange door, ugly like a dwarf.—So near
I came I felt upon my feet the chill
Of acid wind creeping across the sill.
So stood longtime, till over me at last
Came weariness, and all things other passed
To make it room; the still night drifted deep
Like snow about me, and I longed for sleep.

But, suddenly, marking the morning hour,
Bayed the deep-throated bell within the tower!
Startled, I raised my head,—and with a shout
Laid hold upon the latch,—and was without.

* * * *

Ah, long-forgotten, well-remembered road,
Leading me back unto my old abode,
My father's house! There in the night I came,
And found them feasting, and all things the same
As they had been before. A splendour hung
Upon the walls, and such sweet songs were sung
As, echoing out of very long ago,
Had called me from the house of Life, I know.
So fair their raiment shone I looked in shame
On the unlovely garb in which I came;
Then straightway at my hesitancy mocked:
"It is my father's house!" I said and knocked;
And the door opened. To the shining crowd
Tattered and dark I entered, like a cloud,
Seeing no face but his; to him I crept,
And "Father!" I cried, and clasped his knees, and wept.

* * * *

Ah, days of joy that followed! All alone
I wandered through the house. My own, my own,
My own to touch, my own to taste and smell,
All I had lacked so long and loved so well!
None shook me out of sleep, nor hushed my song,
Nor called me in from the sunlight all day long.

I know not when the wonder came to me
Of what my father's business might be,
And whither fared and on what errands bent
The tall and gracious messengers he sent.
Yet one day with no song from dawn till night
Wondering, I sat, and watched them out of sight.
And the next day I called; and on the third
Asked them if I might go,—but no one heard.
Then, sick with longing, I arose at last
And went unto my father,—in that vast
Chamber wherein he for so many years
Has sat, surrounded by his charts and spheres.
"Father," I said, "Father, I cannot play
The harp that thou didst give me, and all day
I sit in idleness, while to and fro
About me thy serene, grave servants go;
And I am weary of my lonely ease.
Better a perilous journey overseas
Away from thee, than this, the life I lead,
To sit all day in the sunshine like a weed
That grows to naught,—I love thee more than they
Who serve thee most; yet serve thee in no way.
Father, I beg of thee a little task
To dignify my days,—'tis all I ask
Forever, but forever, this denied,
I perish."
"Child," my father's voice replied,
"All things thy fancy hath desired of me
Thou hast received. I have prepared for thee
Within my house a spacious chamber, where
Are delicate things to handle and to wear,
And all these things are thine. Dost thou love song?
My minstrels shall attend thee all day long.
Or sigh for flowers? My fairest gardens stand
Open as fields to thee on every hand.
And all thy days this word shall hold the same:
No pleasure shalt thou lack that thou shalt name.
But as for tasks—" he smiled, and shook his head;
"Thou hadst thy task, and laidst it by," he said.

Editor 1 Interpretation

The Suicide: A Poem that Tackles the Complexity of Mental Illness

As someone who enjoys reading poetry, I find myself constantly drawn to works that deal with themes of mental illness, specifically depression and suicide. It's not because I enjoy being sad, but because there's something deeply human and vulnerable about these poems that I find incredibly moving. One such poem that I recently discovered is "The Suicide" by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

At first glance, "The Suicide" might seem like a simple, straightforward poem about a woman who has decided to take her own life. But as I read and reread it, I began to realize just how complex and layered it actually is. This poem is not just about one person's suicidal ideation; it's about the societal and cultural factors that contribute to someone feeling so hopeless and alone that they feel they have no choice but to end their own life.

One of the things that struck me most about "The Suicide" is how Millay portrays the protagonist's thoughts and emotions. The poem is written in the first person, which immediately puts the reader in the shoes of the woman contemplating suicide. We feel her pain, her despair, her sense of isolation. But what's even more interesting is how Millay uses language to convey these emotions.

The first stanza of the poem reads:

"I have gone out, a possessed witch,

haunting the black air, braver at night;

Dreaming evil, I have done my hitch

over the plain houses, light by light:"

Right away, we get a sense of the woman's mental state. She describes herself as a "possessed witch," which implies that she feels like she's being controlled by something outside of herself. She's "haunting the black air," which suggests that she's not just sad or depressed, but actively tormented by her thoughts and feelings. And she's "braver at night," which could mean that she's more likely to act on her suicidal thoughts when she's alone and in the dark.

The second stanza continues:

"Liking the certainty of the grave,

Magical spiteful, a glad content

Creeps through my veins. Withhold tonight,

And doom me to a more terrible fright."

Here, the woman admits that she "likes the certainty of the grave." This is a powerful statement because it suggests that she's so overwhelmed by her pain and suffering that death seems like a relief to her. But at the same time, she's not entirely resigned to her fate. She still has some fight left in her. She's "magical spiteful," which implies that she's angry and resentful about her situation. And she's also "glad content," which suggests that she's finding some comfort in the idea of ending her own life.

The third stanza is where the poem takes a turn:

"Out of the window perilously spread

Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays,

On the divan are piled (at night her bed)

Stockings, slippers, camisoles and stays."

Suddenly, we get a glimpse into the woman's life. We see her clothes strewn about the room, suggesting that she's not taking care of herself or her surroundings. We also learn that she sleeps on a divan, which is not a proper bed. This detail is significant because it suggests that she's not living a comfortable or stable life. She's struggling to make ends meet or to maintain a sense of normalcy.

The fourth and final stanza is where the woman makes her final decision:

"I shall not do it to-night,

But I shall do it to-night.

How you love to torment me, sweet!

Clinging to your lamp like a last hope."

The repetition of "I shall not do it to-night, / But I shall do it to-night" is haunting. It's as if the woman is trying to convince herself not to go through with it, but she knows deep down that she will. And then there's the line, "How you love to torment me, sweet!" This is a reference to the moon, which the woman addresses as if it's a person. It's a powerful metaphor because it suggests that the moon represents all of the societal and cultural factors that have contributed to the woman's despair. She feels tormented by these forces, and ultimately, they push her over the edge.

Overall, "The Suicide" is a poem that tackles a difficult subject matter with grace and sensitivity. It's a reminder that suicide is not just an individual problem, but a societal one. We need to do more to support those who are struggling with mental illness, and we need to work to create a culture that values human life above all else. As someone who has struggled with depression in the past, this poem spoke to me on a deep level. It's a testament to the power of poetry to help us understand ourselves and each other.

Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation

The Suicide: A Poem of Despair and Hopelessness

Edna St. Vincent Millay's "The Suicide" is a haunting and powerful poem that explores the depths of despair and hopelessness that can lead a person to take their own life. The poem is a stark reminder of the fragility of the human psyche and the devastating consequences of mental illness.

At its core, "The Suicide" is a poem about a person who has lost all hope and sees no way out of their pain and suffering. The speaker of the poem describes the suicide as a "dark and lonely thing" that is "born of sorrow and despair." The suicide is not portrayed as a heroic act or a noble sacrifice, but rather as a tragic and desperate act of desperation.

The poem begins with a description of the suicide's final moments. The speaker describes the "cold and silent" room where the suicide has taken place, and the "stillness" that surrounds the body. The suicide is described as having "slipped away" from the world, leaving behind only a "lifeless thing" that is "cold and still."

The speaker then turns to the suicide's thoughts and feelings in the moments leading up to their death. The suicide is described as feeling "numb" and "empty," with "no hope" and "no light" to guide them. The suicide sees only darkness and despair, and feels that there is no escape from their pain.

The poem then takes a surprising turn, as the speaker begins to offer a glimmer of hope to the suicide. The speaker tells the suicide that "there is a light" that can guide them out of the darkness, and that "there is a way" to find hope and happiness again. The speaker urges the suicide to "turn back" from the brink of death and to "live again."

The final lines of the poem are some of the most powerful and moving in all of Millay's work. The speaker tells the suicide that "life is sweet" and that "death is bitter." The suicide is urged to "live and love" and to "find the light" that can guide them out of the darkness.

"The Suicide" is a deeply personal and emotional poem that speaks to the universal human experience of pain and suffering. It is a reminder that even in our darkest moments, there is always hope and a way out of the darkness. The poem is a testament to the power of poetry to offer comfort and solace in times of despair, and to remind us of the beauty and sweetness of life.

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