Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
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.
An anguished account of how time might not heal all wounds, Edna St. Vincent Millay lists every way in which her heart continues to break for the absence of her lover. Every single place where he has been, anything they've experienced together, it all reminds her of her lost lover. Even in new places, where there is no memory of him, she is struck by the way in which there is no memory of him, and so, she stands "stricken, so remembering him." I have little to say, because I feel like the poem speaks for itself clearly.