By Edna St. Vincent Millay
I love the sonnet form, and I find that some of Millay's poems echo my life in a way that brings me comfort time and again. So many of her sonnets capture that profound feeling of lost love—one haunting sextet is:
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go, —so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.