I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year, Ere I forget, or die, or move away, And we are done forever; by and by. I shall forget you, as I said, but now, If you entreat me with your loveliest lie. I will protest you with my favorite vow. I would indeed that love were longer-lived, And vows were not so brittle as they are, But so it is, and nature has contrived. To struggle on without a break thus far,--Whether or not we find what we are seeking. Is idle, biologically speaking.
Edna St. Vincent MillayAbout author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: american
- Born: February 22, 1892
- Died: October 19, 1950