Heartbroken woman. Courtesy Marie Claire.
| Futility (1921) by |
| from Poetry, December 1921 |
Futility[]
The nights grow long and the days cold —
I dream of you and love.
The dead leaf, falling from the tree,
Is not more sad than memory;
Nor is the rising wind as bold
As were your lips on me . . .
(What are you thinking of?)
The streets and trees and people pass
Like words beneath my pen;
Symbols, below a painted sky —
I have no part in them. I lie
Futile as footsteps on the grass.
Wind-torn, storm-drenched; I long to die.
(You might remember . . . then.)
This poem is in the public domain