Here Is A Wound That Never Will Heal, I Know

Here is a wound that never will heal, I know,
Being wrought not of a dearness and a death,
But of a love turned ashes and the breath
Gone out of beauty; never again will grow
The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow
Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath
Its friendly weathers down, far Underneath
Shall be such bitterness of an old woe.
That April should be shattered by a gust,
That August should be levelled by a rain,
I can endure, and that the lifted dust
Of man should settle to the earth again;
But that a dream can die, will be a thrust
Between my ribs forever of hot pain.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Comments (3)

Only a great poet can figure out the wound that never heals. He has summed it up well here: But that a dream can die, will be a thrust, Between my ribs forever of hot pain.
I too love how this piece ends. Lost love can be recovered from but losing a dream stays with you for a lifetime.
I like how the poems ends, not on the note of lost love, but on the more stinging realization that a dream can die. Though it begins on the note of love ending and the pain felt from that, she thought to include that at the end, almost as if saying The lost love you may recover from; the lost dream is more stinging.