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11/22/2009 3:35:34 AM

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I1.
   Love, though for this you riddle me with darts, 
.
   And drag me at your chariot till I die, -- 
.
   Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts! -- 
.
   Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lie 
.
   Who shout you mighty: thick about my hair, 
.
   Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,  
.
   Who still am free, unto no querulous care 
.
   A fool, and in no temple worshiper! 
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   I, that have bared me to your quiver's fire, 
.

Lifted my face into its puny rain, 
.

Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke Desire 
.

As you are Powerless to Elicit Pain! 
.

(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave, 
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Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)  II2.
   I think I should have loved you presently, 
.
   And given in earnest words I flung in jest; 
.
   And lifted honest eyes for you to see, 
.
   And caught your hand against my cheek and breast; 
.
   And all my pretty follies flung aside 
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   That won you to me, and beneath your gaze, 
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   Naked of reticence and shorn of pride, 
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   Spread like a chart my little wicked ways. 
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   I, that had been to you, had you remained, 
.

But one more waking from a recurrent dream, 
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Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained, 
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And walk your memory's halls, austere, supreme, 
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A ghost in marble of a girl you knew 
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Who would have loved you in a day or two. III3.
   Oh, think not I am faithful to a vow! 
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   Faithless am I save to love's self alone. 
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   Were you not lovely I would leave you now: 
.
   After the feet of beauty fly my own. 
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   Were you not still my hunger's rarest food, 
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   And water ever to my wildest thirst, 
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   I would desert you -- think not but I would! -- 
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   And seek another as I sought you first. 
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   But you are mobile as the veering air, 
.

And all your charms more changeful than the tide, 
.

Wherefore to be inconstant is no care: 
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I have but to continue at your side. 
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So wanton, light and false, my love, are you, 
.

I am most faithless when I most am true. IV4.
  I shall forget you presently, my dear, 
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  So make the most of this, your little day, 
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  Your little month, your little half a year, 
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  Ere I forget, or die, or move away, 
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  And we are done forever; by and by 
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  I shall forget you, as I said, but now, 
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  If you entreat me with your loveliest lie 
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  I will protest you with my favorite vow. 
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  I would indeed that love were longer-lived, 
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And vows were not so brittle as they are, 
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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.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

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