Thursday, February 14, 2013

Sweet Nothings

Sonnet XLIII

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, 
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain 
Under my head till morning; but the rain 
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh 
Upon the glass and listen for reply, 
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain 
For unremembered lads that not again 
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. 
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, 
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, 
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: 
I cannot say what loves have come and gone, 
I only know that summer sang in me 
A little while, that in me sings no more.
---Edna St Vincent Millay 


  1. She can break your heart. First poem that ever made me cry was the Harp Weaver.

  2. I love her. So vibrant and vital and alive.

  3. I read a great biography of her. I wish I could remember the name.