Loving you less than life, a little less
Than bitter-sweet upon a broken wall
Or bush-wood smoke in autumn, I confess
I cannot swear I love you not at all.
For there is that about you in this light—
A yellow darkness, sinister of rain—
Which sturdily recalls my stubborn sight
In other words, I may love you a little… 
 Millay returns to this cleverly dodgy syntax at the end of the poem. In her unwillingness to make straightforward statements about her feelings, she captures precisely how unstraightforward they are. Or maybe how unstraightforward she wishes they were? 

Loving you less than life a little less