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Sonnet II

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last years leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last years bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!

There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, There is no memory of him here!
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

- Edna St. Vincent Millay