| procrastination... | ||||||||||||||||||||||||
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What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before. I cannot say what loves have come and gone; I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more. Edna St. Vincent Millay | |||||||||||||||||||||||
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To see a World in a Grain of Sand | And a Heaven in a Wild Flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour William Blake
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