A poem by J.F. Conant

He who loves an old house never loves in vain. How can an old house used to sun and rain, to lilac and to larkspur and an elm above-ever fail to answer the heart that gives it love?

Saturday, November 12, 2011

The Philosopher (a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay)

And what are you that, wanting you,
I should be kept awake
As many nights as there are days
With weeping for your sake?

And what are you that, missing you,
As many days as crawl
I should be listening to the wind
And looking at the wall?

I know a man that's a braver man
And twenty men as kind,
And what are you, that you should be
The one man on my mind?

Yet women's ways are witless ways,
As any sage will tell-
And what am I, that I should love
So wisely and so well?

4 comments:

Granny Annie said...

Nobody says it better than Edna!

Diane said...

Love this poem!

Terri said...

I KNOW, right? I have ordered a collecton of Edna St. Vincent Millay's poems, because I enjoyed them so much in the Caroline Kennedy book!

Joe Pollhein, Sr. said...

You are the sweetest woman in the world.