Poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Witch-Wife

She is neither pink nor pale,
        And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
        And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
        In the sun ’tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
        Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can, 
        And her ways to my ways resign; 
But she was not made for any man, 
        And she never will be all mine.

1. There Was upon the Sill
2. Gazing upon Him Now
3. She Had a Horror
4. The Doctor Asked Her
5. So She Came Back

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