A Maiden
Oh if I were the velvet rose
Upon the red rose vine,
I'd climb to touch his window
And make his casement fine.
And if I were the little bird
That twitters on the tree,
All day I'd sing my love for him
Till he should harken me.
But since I am a maiden
I go with downcast eyes,
And he will never hear the songs
That he has turned to sighs.
And since I am a maiden
My love will never know
That I could kiss him with a mouth
More red than roses blow.
Sara Teasdale
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