On this, the 123rd anniversary of Edna St. Vincent Millay’s birth, we bring you a Millay love poem—a breezy take on the inevitable end of the affair.



Edna St. Vincent Millay in Mamaroneck, NY, 1914. Photo via Wikipedia.

Sonnet IV

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far, —
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.



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  • ellen sue spicer-jacobson February 22, 2015 at 8:13 am

    Terrific sentiments that echo Dorothy Parker, my favorite (cynical) dead poet!