Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Passer Mortuus Est

Death devours all lovely things;
Lesbia with her sparrow
Shares the darkness,—presently
Every bed is narrow.

Unremembered as old rain
Dries the sheer libation,
And the little petulant hand
Is an annotation.

After all, my erstwhile dear,
My no longer cherished,
Need we say it was not love,
Now that love is perished?

1. The Courage That My Mother Had
2. The Heart Once Broken Is a Heart No More
3. If to Be Left Were to Be Left Alone
4. Apostrophe to Man
5. God’s World

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