Once more into my arid days like dew,
Like wind from an oasis, or the sound
Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,
A treacherous messenger, the thought of you
Comes to destroy me; once more I renew
Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found
Long since to be but just one other mound
Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.
And once again, and wiser in no wise,
I chase your colored phantom on the air,
And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise
And stumble pitifully on to where,
Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,
Once more I clasp,—and there is nothing there.
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© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Some other works of this poet:
- Alms
- Sonnet: “She Had A Horror He Would Die At Night”
- The Snow Storm
- Invocation To The Muses
- Childhood Is The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies
- Inland
- Sonnet: “I. Love, Though For This You Riddle Me With Darts”
- Night Is My Sister, And How Deep In Love
- Sonnet: “The Light Comes Back With Columbine; She Brings”
- When The Year Grows Old
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