What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,I have forgotten, and what arms have lainUnder my head till morning; but the rainIs full of ghosts to-night, that tap and sighUpon the glass and listen for reply;And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain,For unremembered lads that not againWill turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the 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 meA little while, that in me sings no more.
Edna St Vincent Millay - Eight Sonnets V
See also this beautiful poem - Love Is Not All
Edna St Vincent Millay - Eight Sonnets V
See also this beautiful poem - Love Is Not All
