Passer Mortuus Est

Death devours all lovely things;
Lesbia with her sparrow
Shares the darkness,—presently
Every bed is narrow.

Unremembered as old rain
Dries the sheer libation,
And the little petulant hand
Is an annotation.

After all, my erstwhile dear,
My no longer cherished,
Need we say it was not love,
Now that love is perished?

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Other poems of ST. VINCENT MILLAY (168)

Comments (7)

This is a true poem and a powerful invite to express consideration.
you acheived the goal of your poem successfully in simple words brisk feelings and strong motivation
This reminded me of one of mine called: Kind Words It may surprise you. Adeline
nice words....nicely written....thnx for sharing...i rated this one 10.
this is a lovely poem and is very well thought out. I really love the style you have!
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