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
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L O V E - Poetry of the Greats
PoetryA collection of great love poetry, chosen in no particular order or reason except that it spoke to me. I hope it speaks to you too. *Disclaimer: these works are not my own.*