The Blind
The birds are all a-building,
They say the world's a-flower,
And still I linger lonely
Within a barren bower.
I weave a web of fancies
Of tears and darkness spun.
How shall I sing of sunlight
Who never saw the sun?
I hear the pipes a-blowing,
But yet I may not dance,
I know that Love is passing,
I cannot catch his glance.
And if his voice should call me
And I with groping dim
Should reach his place of calling
And stretch my arms to him,
The wind would blow between my hands
For Joy that I shall miss,
The rain would fall upon my mouth
That his will never kiss.
Sara Teasdale
Vous avez aimé cette poésie ? faites la connaître !
D'autres poésies de Sara Teasdale
A Ballad of the Two Knights
Two knights rode forth at early dawn
A-seeking maids to...
A Cry
Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands to make his...
A Fantasy
Her voice is like clear water
That drips upon a stone
A Little While
A little while when I am gone
My life will live in music...
A Maiden
Oh if I were the velvet rose
Upon the red rose vine,
A Minuet of Mozart's
Across the dimly lighted room
The violin drew wefts of...
A November Night
There! See the line of lights,
A chain of stars down...
A Prayer
When I am dying, let me know
That I loved the blowing...
A Song of the Princess
The princess has her lovers,
A score of knights has she,...
A Winter Bluejay
Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our...
Précédentes poésies
You Ask Me, Why, Tho' Ill at Ease
You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease,
Within this...
Ulysses
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still...
To Virgil, Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the N
Roman Virgil, thou that singest
Ilion's lofty...
To Virgil
Written at the Request of the Mantuans for the Nineteenth...
To The Queen
O loyal to the royal in thyself,
And loyal to thy land,...
