Edna St. Vincent Millay

And must I then, indeed, Pain, live with youall through my life?-sharing my fire, my bed,Sharing-oh, worst of all things!-the same head?-And, when I feed myself, feeding you too?

Music, my rampart and my only one.

No one but Night, with tears on her dark face, watches beside me in this windy place.

Pity me that the heart is slow to learnWhat the swift mind beholds at every turn.

Please give me some good advice in your next letter. I promise not to follow it.