Time does not bring relief (Edna St. Vincent Millay)

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.

The Bird in the Tree (Ruth Pitter)

The tree, and its haunting bird,

  Are the loves of my heart;

But where is the word, the word,

  Oh where is the art,

To say, or even to see,

  For a moment of time,

What the Tree and the Bird must be

  In the true sublime?

They shine, listening to the soul,

  And the soul replies;

But the inner love is not whole,

  and the moment dies.

Oh give me before I die

  The grace to see

With eternal, ultimate eye,

  The Bird and the Tree.

The song in the living Green,

  The Tree and the Bird -

Oh have they ever been seen,

  Ever been heard?