What lips my lips have kissed…
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered las that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Now knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows it’s boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that sings in me no more.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay
