Text on a photo of green oak leaves and their shadow.
She had forgotten how the August night Was 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.
EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
This poem holds memories of early spring in HS, when seeing how a boy caught a frisbee, or saw another’s crooked smile, was reason enough to love them in that brief moment.
The ‘sluggish’ didn’t arrive until some years later.
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