Willow, in your April gown Delicate and gleaming, Do you mind in years gone by All my dreaming? Spring was like a call to me That I could not answer, I was chained to loneliness, I, the dancer. Willow, twinkling in the sun, Still your leaves and hear me, I can answer spring at last, Love is near me!
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Arcturus