I know I might have lived in such a way
As to have suffered only pain:
Loving not man nor dog;
Not money, even; feeling
Toothache perhaps, but never more than an hour away
From skill and novocaine;
Making no contacts, dealing with life through agents, drinking one cocktail, betting two dollars, wearing raincoats in the rain;
Betrayed at length by no one but the fog
Whispering to the wing of the plane.
“Fountain,” I have cried to that ububbling well, “I will not drink of thy water!” Yet I thirst
For a mouthful of – not to swallow, only to rinse my mouth in – peace. And while the eyes of the past condemn,
The eyes of the present narrow into assignation. And…
Worst…
The young are so old, they are born with their fingers crossed; I shall get no help from them.
[Edna St. Vincent Millay]
[08.02.2018]
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