Edna St. Vincent Millay





Sonnet 2

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied 
Who told me time would ease me of my pain! 
I miss him in the weeping of the rain; 
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side, 
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane; 
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide. 
There are a hundred places where I fear  
To go, - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place  
Where never fell his foot or shone his face  
I say, œThere is no memory of him here! 
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.