-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sonnet cxvi
Well, I have lost you and I lost you fairly
In my own way and with my full consent.
Say what you will, kings in a tumbrel rarely
Went to their deaths more proud than this one went.
Some nights of apprehension and hot weeping
I will confess but that's permitted me;
Day dried my eyes; I was not one for keeping
Rubbed in a cage a wing that would be free.
If I had loved you less or played you slyly
I might have held you for a summer more,
But at the cost of words I value highly,
And no such summer as the one before.
Should I outlive this anguish_ and men do_
I shall have only good to say of you.

Sonnet xl
Loving you less than life, a little less
Than bitter-sweet upon a broken wall
Of brush-wood smoke in autumn, I confess
I cannot swear I love you not at all.
For there is that about you in this light_
A yellow darkness, inister of rain_
Which suddenly recalls my stubborn sight
To dwell on you, and dwell on you again.
And I am made aware of many a week
I shall consume, remembering in what way
Your brown hair grows about your brow and cheek,
And what divine absurdities you say:
Till all the world, and I, and surely you,
Will know I love you, whether or not I do.