When we are old and these rejoicing veins Are frosty channels to a muted stream, And out of all our burning there remains No feeblest spark to fire us, even in 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 lie the dead, Sleeping away the unreturning time.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
Select a background
More quotes by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Popular Authors
A curated listing of popular authors.