Love is not all: it is not meat and drink
Nor slumber, nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death,
Even as I speak, for want of love alone.
See also another of my favourite Millay poems as well as her famous 'Dirge Without Music'
