![What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why
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 [loves] that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor 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.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Collected Poems (HarperCollins, 1951)](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2u3lbdORI1qe0r71o1_r1_1280.jpg)
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why
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 [loves] that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor 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.
—Edna St. Vincent Millay, from Collected Poems (HarperCollins, 1951)
