Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Betrothal

Oh, come, my lad, or go, my lad, 
And love me if you like. 
I shall not hear the door shut 
Nor the knocker strike. 

Oh, bring me gifts or beg me gifts, 
And wed me if you will. 
I’d make a man a good wife, 
Sensible and still. 

And why should I be cold, my lad, 
And why should you repine, 
Because I love a dark head 
That never will be mine? 

I might as well be easing you 
As lie alone in bed 
And waste the night in wanting 
A cruel dark head. 

You might as well be calling yours 
What never will be his, 
And one of us be happy. 
There’s few enough as is.

1. Assault
2. Tavern
3. Sonnets 11: As To Some Lovely Temple, Tenantless
4. Eel-Grass
5. Fontaine, Je Ne Boirai Pas De Ton Eau!

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