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 by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I 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 contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,—
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.

Edna St. Vincent Millay


2 Responses to “”

  1. 1 Jenny, Bloggess February 22, 2008 at 8:01 am

    Millay is just going to make you more depressed. Switch to Dorothy Parker for the day:

    A single flow’r he sent me, since we met.
    All tenderly his messenger he chose;
    Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet –
    One perfect rose.

    I knew the language of the floweret;
    ‘My fragile leaves,’ it said, ‘his heart enclose.’
    Love long has taken for his amulet
    One perfect rose.

    Why is it no one ever sent me yet
    One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
    Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get
    One perfect rose.

  2. 2 Nick February 22, 2008 at 7:15 pm

    I’ll jump back in time a bit to Emily Dickinson

    Wild Nights–Wild Nights!
    Were I with thee
    Wild Nights should be
    Our luxury!

    Futile–the Winds–
    To a Heart in port–
    Done with the Compass–
    Done with the Chart!

    Rowing in Eden–
    Ah, the Sea!
    Might I but moor–Tonight–
    In Thee!

    or this matches the photo more

    I started Early—-Took my Dog—-
    And visited the Sea—-
    The Mermaids in the Basement
    Came out to look at me—-

    And Frigates—-in the Upper Floor
    Extended Hempen Hands—-
    Presuming Me to be a Mouse—-
    Aground—-upon the Sands—-

    But no Man moved Me—-till the Tide
    Went past my simple Shoe—-
    And past my Apron—-and my Belt
    And past my Bodice—-too—-

    And made as He would eat me up—-
    As wholly as a Dew
    Upon a Dandelion’s Sleeve—-
    And then—-I started—-too—-

    And He-—He followed—-close behind—-
    I felt His Silver Heel
    Upon my Ankle—-Then my Shoes
    Would overflow with Pearl—-

    Until We met the Solid Town—-
    No One He seemed to know—-
    And bowing—-with a Mighty look—-
    At me—-The Sea withdrew—-

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


RSS What I’m Reading

  • An error has occurred; the feed is probably down. Try again later.

%d bloggers like this: