Wuthering Heights

What lips my lip have kissed, and where, and why, 

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

Under my head till morning; but the rain

Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listen for reply, 

And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. 

Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, 

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, 

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone, 

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more. 

——Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sonnet XLIII