from Edna St Vincent Millay:

Song for Young Lovers In The City

Though less for love than for the deep
Though transient death that follows it
These childish mouths grow soft in sleep
Here in a rented bed have met,

They have not met in love's despite...
Such tiny loves will leap and flare
Lurid as coke-fires in the night,
Against a backdrop of despair.

To treeless grove, to grey retreat
Descend in flocks from corniced eaves
The pigeons now on sooty feet,
To cover them with linden leaves.

To Those Without Pity

Cruel of heart, lay down my song.
Your reading eyes have done me wrong.
Not for you was the pen bitten,
And the mind wrung, and the song written.

The Road to the Past

It is this that you get for being so far-sighted. Not so many years
For the myopic, as for me,
The delightful shape, implored and heart of heart, proceeding
Into the past unheeding,
(No wave of the hand, no backwards look to see
If I still stand there) clear and precise along that road appears.

The trees that edge that road run parallel
For eyes like mine past many towns, past hell seem plainly;
All that has happened shades the street;
Children all day, even the awkward, the ungainly
Of mind, work out on paper problems more abstruse;
Demonstrably these eyes will close
Before those hedges meet.

Ah, Millay-- what a wonderful poet. I will never understand why more people don't read her.