Sonnet CXXXIX by Edna St Vincent Millay

Just discovered this poet...reportedly one of the greatest sonneteers. This poem was found by her side when she tripped and fell down a flight of stairs under the influence of alcohol. She broke her neck and died instantaneously.
Here is her “Sonnet CXXXIX”:

"I must not die of pity; I must live;

Grow strong. not sicken; eat, digest my food,

That it may build me, and in doing good

To blood and bone, broaden the sensitive

Fastidious pale perception: we contrive

Lean comfort for the starving, who intrude

Upon them with our pots of pity; brewed

From stronger meat must be the broth we give.

Blue, bright September day, with here and there

On the green hills a maple turning red,

And white clouds racing in the windy air!--

If I would help the weak, I must be fed

In wit and purpose, pour away despair

And rinse the cup, eat happiness like bread."