While reading Edmund Wilson’s The Twenties this night and his love for Edna St. Vincent Millay, I thought of this poem posted long ago
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 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.
Leonard Durso 
I read this and never found my way back to it. Thank you for sharing this. x
You are most welcome. She is definitely worth returning to.
A nice poem
Yes, it is.
I love this! Thanks for sharing…
You are welcome. I love her work, too.
Ahhhh…. so beautiful. Thank you for posting. I have a deep admiration for the female artists of Millay’s era. It must have taken a great deal of courage to be a artists, free thinkers, lovers….
And she was definitely all that.