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 a reply,
And in my heart there sits a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will 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 me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
- Comment
- Reblog
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Leonard Durso 
Ah. That is a great poem. Wasn’t familiar with it. Thanks for posting it.
You’re welcome. I periodically dip into her work so I can remember how great she is.
I need to do the same now! One thing undeniably powerful about this is that the speaker is a woman. It’s almost an indictment on English language poetry that our canon does not( historically anyway) contain more works like this.
I just posted another one by her for your enjoyment.
And I wholeheartedly agree with you. Women and minorities have been underrepresented until fairly recently.