When I first read poems by Edna St. Vincent Millay, I was in high school. The selection in our textbook made her seem entirely decorous, even starchy. I hadnt read anything else by her until a colleague recently showed this poem to me, which I found particularly moving: Sonnet 42 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 sings no more.
Posted on: Fri, 25 Apr 2014 23:52:39 +0000
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