Sign My Guestbook View My Guestbook
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 then before:
I cannot say that loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
-Edna Vincent Millay
Contact me Sign My Guestbook View My Guestbook
Popular (free) Web Hosts Writing HTML
Autobiography
Story Directory
Links
News and Updates