Time does not bring relief; you all have lied…

Edna St. Vincent Millay

1892 to 1950

Poem Image
Track 1

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Every 10th word

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied  
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!  
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;  
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,  
And year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;  
But year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, my old thoughts abide.  
There are a hundred where I fear  
To go,—so with his they brim.  
And entering with relief some quiet   
Where never fell his foot or shone his   
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”  
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.