Poems (Millay)/Passer Mortuus Est
Passer Mortuns Est
Death devours all lovely things; Lesbia with her sparrowShares the darkness,—presently Every bed is narrow.
Unremembered as old rain Dries the sheer libation,And the little petulant hand Is an annotation.
After all, my erstwhile dear, My no longer cherished,Need we say it was not love, Now that love is perished?