Tuesday, 18 February 2014


SHE is neither pink nor pale,
    And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
    And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;        
    In the sun ’tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
    Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
    And her ways to my ways resign;        
But she was not made for any man,
    And she never will be all mine

Edna St Vincent Millay


No comments: