poem

Witch Wife

by

Edna St. Vincent Millay

SHE is neither pink nor pale,

And she never will be all mine;

She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,

And her mouth on a valentine.


She has more hair than she needs;
5
In the sun ’tis a woe to me!

And her voice is a string of colored beads,

Or steps leading into the sea.


She loves me all that she can,

And her ways to my ways resign;
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But she was not made for any man,

And she never will be all mine.