The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.
My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be,
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
But not to me.
Okay seriously...she is one of the best poets ever and i just found out about her yesterday in english class, i. love. sara teasdale. :) awesome stuff here, i don't get y so many people groan when they hear we are doing anything dealing with poetry, i mean have they ever taken the time to appreciate it? i doubt it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Only Sara Teasdale can touch your soul with the simple dignity of her lines and capture your empathy with her yearning sadness