Poems (Millay)/Sonnet—Love, Though for This
Four Sonnets
ILove, though for this you riddle me with darts,And drag me at your chariot till I die,—Oh, heavy prince! Oh, panderer of hearts!—Yet hear me tell how in their throats they lieWho shout you mighty: thick about my hair,Day in, day out, your ominous arrows purr,Who still am free, unto no querulous careA fool, and in no temple worshipper!I, that have bared me to your quiver's fire,Lifted my face into its puny rain,Do wreathe you Impotent to Evoke DesireAs you are Powerless to Elicit Pain!(Now will the god, for blasphemy so brave,Punish me, surely, with the shaft I crave!)