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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374613" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Not Even My Pride Shall Suffer Much</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374613" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Not even my pride shall suffer much;<br>Not even my pride at all, maybe,<br>If this ill-timed, intemperate clutch<br>Be loosed by you and not by me,<br>Will suffer; I have been so true<br>A vestal to that only pride<br>Wet wood cannot extinguish, nor<br>Sand, nor its embers scattered, for,<br>See all these years, it has not died.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374613" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And if indeed, as I dare think,<br>You cannot push this patient flame,<br>By any breath your lungs could store,<br>Even for a moment to the floor<br>To crawl there, even for a moment crawl,<br>What can you mix for me to drink<br>That shall deflect me? What you do<br>Is either malice, crude defense <br>Of ego, or indifference:<br>I know these things as well as you;<br>You do not dazzle me at all— </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374613" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Some love, and some simplicity,<br>Might well have been the death of me—</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edna+St.+Vincent+Millay">Edna St. Vincent Millay</a></strong></div>

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