Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected Poems Quotes
After all, my erstwhile dear, My no longer cherished, Need we say it was not love, Just because it perished?
And so beneath the weight lay IAnd suffered death, but could not die.
Am I kin to Sorrow, That so oftFalls the knocker of my door—Neither loud nor soft, But as long accustomed—Under Sorrow’s hand?
