Poem

When We Are Old And These Rejoicing Veins By Edna St. Vincent Millay

When We Are Old And These Rejoicing Veins By Edna St. Vincent Millay
When we are old and these rejoicing veins
Are frosty channels to a muted stream,
And out of all our burning their remains
No feeblest spark to fire us, even in a dream,
This be our solace: that it was not said
When we were young and warm and in our prime,
Upon our couch we lay as a lie the dead,
Sleeping away the unreturning time.
O sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love,
When morning strikes her spear upon the land,
And we must rise and arm us and reprove
The insolent daylight with a steady hand,
Be not discountenanced if the knowing know
We rose from rapture but an hour ago.

― By Edna St. Vincent Millay

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