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Now that the time had come, she didn't want to meet those sophisticated young men in their long coats and high hats. She wouldn't know how to act, what to say. But Birdie had already joined them, and was turning to say airily: "Shake hands with my friend Miss Millay, Mr. Clarke and, I say, Monte, what's your other name?" The older of the young men laughed good-naturedly. "Monte'll do," he said.
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! Millay. If you've spent more than one day in Okoochee, Oklahoma, you've had dinner at Pardee's. Someone a business acquaintance, a friend, a townsman has said, "Oh, you stopping at the Okmulgee Hotel? WON derful, isn't it? Nothing finer here to the Coast.
A few days before I took this trip up into the jungles of Luzon to visit this Negrito tribe I had received a copy of a slender volume of poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
"Payuchi," she said, "put away this basket of grasshopper meal. And, Gesnip, go to the jacal and find me the coils for basket weaving." "What shall I bring?" asked Gesnip. "The large bundle of chippa that is soaking in a basket, and the big coil of yellow kah-hoom and the little one of black tsuwish which are hanging up, and bring me my needle and bone awl." "Do you want the coil of millay?"
As we stood there that morning on the top of Boroboedoer's highest bell, lines of Edna St. Vincent Millay swung into my soul: "All I could see from where I stood Was three tall mountains and a wood." Only in this instance all I could see were three volcanos. And the one in the center, old Merapi was belching out a trail of black smoke. These three volcanos, take turns through the centuries.
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