February

by


They spoke of him I love
With cruel words and gay;
My lips kept silent guard
On all I could not say.

I heard, and down the street
The lonely trees in the square
Stood in the winter wind
Patient and bare.

I heard... oh voiceless trees
Under the wind, I knew
The eager terrible spring
Hidden in you.

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Return to the Sara Teasdale Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; February Twilight

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