Here is a wound that never will heal, I know,
Being wrought not of a dearness and a death,
But of a love turned ashes and the breath
Gone out of beauty; never again will grow
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Only a great poet can figure out the wound that never heals. He has summed it up well here: But that a dream can die, will be a thrust, Between my ribs forever of hot pain.
Its SHE, not He. Edna St. Vincent Millay. She's truly the best poet! [3
I too love how this piece ends. Lost love can be recovered from but losing a dream stays with you for a lifetime.
I like how the poems ends, not on the note of lost love, but on the more stinging realization that a dream can die. Though it begins on the note of love ending and the pain felt from that, she thought to include that at the end, almost as if saying The lost love you may recover from; the lost dream is more stinging.
lol