Passer Mortuus Est

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Death devours all lovely things;
   Lesbia with her sparrow
Shares the darkness,—presently
   Every bed is narrow.

Unremembered as old rain
   Dries the sheer libation,
And the little petulant hand
   Is an annotation.

After all, my erstwhile dear,
   My no longer cherished,
Need we say it was not love,
   Now that love is perished?

Monadnock Valley Press > Millay