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!

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950) American poet

Sonnet 2: “Time does not bring relief,” Renascence: and Other Poems (1917)
    (Source)

The sonnets were not originally numbered, nor did they include titles. Later collections with this poem reduced the number of exclamation points (e.g.).