Recuerdo
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We were very tired, we were very merry---
whe had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable--
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing and the dawn came soon.
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We were very tired, we were very merry--
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
and the sy went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
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We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fare.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Edna St. Vincent Millay~~~~~~~
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Lincoln's poem was closed early, so here is another to read and ponder! I like the tone of this, and the unspoken love story. JFC

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thanks again JFC. you always find a gem for us! i have really been enjoying them. m.e.
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Unique ferry poem. As far as some unspoken love stories go, I can recall a story in particular where what the other clearly didn't know was that one person is actually able to control their actions, as well as their mind, and wouldn't entertain in mind what they wouldn't do in person. The really unfortunate thing is that it wasn't even considered to be a possibility. Telling..That doesn't speak well of the human condition. Then, sometimes on from every third account of love stories, sometimes they drift closer to the truth, other times, further away.
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.. in all fairness, that second account would have to reveal itself,... more,.. but how reliable would it be is the question.
Life is the greatest love story. People are always living by love. That love should always be respected
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JFC, I enjoyed this, thank you for sharing. I rode a ferry as a child and it made me remember the excitement and the feel of the wind blowing across my face and in my hair, coupled I might add with some fear of sinking. "Sadness"
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Unspoken may be the perfect word for this poem, just has that undone quality about it. I just don't see where all that much love is involved.
Maybe the author reserved the love for the one who it was meant for in other writings. Or maybe it's just that people define love differently.
First time I've seen this particular work by Edna St. Vincent Millay.