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Personal Archaeology

Started slowly cleaning and reorganizing the bedroom in preparation for my next stage of long delayed home improvements and came across a foxed old page with nothing but the following Edna St. Vincent Millay poem on it, typed on ajrose93’s old typewriter, something he sent to me in the early part of our courtship. It has lost none of its poignancy:

And you as well must die, belovèd dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell, this wonder fled,
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.

Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how belovèd above all else that dies.

Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
keshaphim
Oct. 6th, 2009 11:05 pm (UTC)
That hit me in my core. So beautiful and so him.

*takes a deep breath*

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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