Explore "Sweet Love" by Edna St. Vincent Millay on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart
I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, / And lie disheveled in the grass apart, / A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain, / While rainy evening drips to misty night, / And misty night to cloudy morning clears, / And clouds disperse across the gathering light, / And birds grow noisy, and the sun appears-Had I bethought me then, sweet love, sweet thorn, / How sharp an anguish even at the best, / When all's requited and the future sworn, / The happy hour can leave within the breast, / I had not so come running at the call
Of one who loves me little, if at all.