Poetry?

Poetry. I do not know much about the various mechanics involved in poetry. Reading poetry scares me and often makes my head hurt. In truth, I have not read much poetry, but I hope to eventually change this. In The Vintage Book of American Women Writers anthology, edited by Elaine Showalter, I found “What Lips My Lips Have Kissed” by Edna St. Vincent Millay to share:

What 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.

What is your favorite poet? What is your favorite poem?

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