I am currently reading a biography of the poetess Edna St. Vincent Millay called, Savage Beauty. It's not a book I would highly reccomend but I am enjoying it, mostly because I've never heard about her before.
I read a poem in there today that captured a bit of how I feel and why I cannot just stay in one place forever, at least not yet...
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!
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