She Had Forgotten How The August Night

She had forgotten how the August night

Was as level as a lake beneath the moon,

In which she swam a little, losing sight

Of shore, and how the boy, who was at noon

Simple enough, not different from the rest,

Wore now a pleasant mystery as he went,

Which seemed to her an honest enough test

Whether she loved him, and she was content.

So loud, so loud the million crickets' choir...

So sweet the night, so long-drawn-out and late...

And if the man were not her spirit's mate,

Why was her body sluggish with desire?

Stark on the open field the moonlight fell,

But the oak tree's shadow was deep and black and

secret as a well.

"She Had Forgotten How The August Night"

(1923)

From "Harpweaver and Other Poems"

Edna St. Vincent Millay

(1892-1950)

American poetess and playwright