1 min read
Слушать(AI)I Shall Forget You Presently My Dear
I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and byI shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lieI will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And oaths were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has
To struggle on without a break thus far,--Whether or not we find what we are
Is idle, biologically speaking.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Edna St. Vincent Millay (February 22, 1892 – October 19, 1950) was an American lyrical poet and playwright.
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
To A Poet That Died Young
Minstrel, what have you to With this man that, after you, Sharing not your happy fate, Sat as England's Laureate
Sorrow
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain Beats upon my heart People twist and scream in pain, — Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane, Neither stop nor start People dress and go to town; I sit in my chair All my thought...
When The Year Grows Old
I cannot but When the year grows old — October — November — How she disliked the cold She used to watch the Go down across the sky,
Bluebeard Sonnet VI
This door you might not open, and you did; So enter now, and see for what slight thing You are betrayed… Here is no treasure hid, No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain For greed like yours, no writhi...