I, being Born a Woman by Edna St. Vincent Millay

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I, being born a woman and distressed

By all the needs and notions of my kind, / Am urged by your propinquity to find

Your person fair, and feel a certain zest

To bear your body's weight upon my breast:

So subtly is the fume of life designed, / To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind, / And leave me once again undone, possessed.

Think not for this, however, the poor treason

Of my stout blood against my staggering brain, / I shall remember you with love, or season

My scorn with pity,-let me make it plain:

I find this frenzy insufficient reason

For conversation when we meet again.

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