Witch-Wife by Millay

I love this poem.  It may well wind up on the wall next to the Graves one. Witch-Wife
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
She is neither pink nor pale,     And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,     And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs;     In the sun 'tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads,     Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can,     And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man,     And she never will be all mine.