Not in this chamber only at my birth— <br /> When the long hours of that mysterious night <br /> Were over, and the morning was in sight— <br />I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth <br />I have not seen, through alien grief and mirth; <br /> And never shall one room contain me quite <br /> Who in so many rooms first saw the light, <br />Child of all mothers, native of the earth. <br /> <br />So is no warmth for me at any fire <br /> To-day, when the world's fire has burned so low; <br />I kneel, spending my breath in vain desire, <br />At that cold hearth which one time roared so strong, <br />And straighten back in weariness, and long <br /> To gather up my little gods and go.<br /><br />Edna St. Vincent Millay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-04-not-in-this-chamber-only-at-my-birth/
