What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

I have forgotten, and what arms have lainUnder my head till morning; but the rain

Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listen for reply;

and in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,

Yet knows its boughs more silent tan before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone!

only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.

Edna St Vincent Millay