Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
I have come to bury Love
Beneath a tree,
In the forest tall and black
Where none can see.
I shall put no flowers at his head,
Nor stone at his feet,
For the mouth I loved so much
Was bittersweet.
I shall go no more to his grave,
For the woods are cold.
I shall gather as much of joy
As my hands can hold.
I shall stay all day in the sun
Where the wide winds blow,—
But oh, I shall cry at night
When none will know.