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

The Hidden Dream

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O, hey, man who has burned my lips with the sparking flames of kisses. Have you seen anything in the depth of my two silent eyes of the secret of this madness? Do you have any idea that, in my heart, I hid a dream of your love? Do you have any idea that of this hidden love, I had a raging fire on my soul? They have said that the woman is a mad woman who gives kisses freely from her lips. Yes, but from your lips bestow life on my dead lips. May the thought of reputation never be in my head. This is I who seek you for satisfaction in this way. I crave a solitude and your embrace. I crave a solitude and the lips of a cup. An opportunity far from the eyes of others to pour you a goblet from the wine of life. A bed I want of red roses so that one night I may give you intoxication. O, hey, man who has burned my lips with the flames of kisses. This is a book without conclusion, and you have read only a brief page.

-Unknown