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I saw two sonnets above the urinal at a Wall Street software company in Boulder, Colorado last week.  The company was running an in office contest to pick the best sonnet of the day.  I thought it ironic and refreshing that two sonnets concerning a woman's loss of love would be what these computer men read while standing at the urinal.


I Shall Forget You Presently, My Dear

 

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 oaths 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 Millay

Tell Me Some Way

Oh, you who love me not, tell me some way

Whereby I may forget you for a space;

Nay, clean forget you and your lovely face--

Yet well I know how vain this prayer I pray.

All weathers hold you. Can I make the May

Forbid her boughs blow white in every place?

Or rob June of her rose that comes apace?

Cheat of their charm the elder months and gray?

Aye, were you dead, you could not be forgot;

So sparse the bloom along the lanes would be;

Such sweetness out the briery hedges fled;

My tears would fall that you had loved me not;

And bitterer tears that you had gone from me;

Living you break my heart, so would you dead!

 

                        Lizzette Woodworth Reese