I hid the love within my heart, And lit the laughter in my eyes, That when we meet he may not know My love that never dies. But sometimes when he dreams at night Of fragrant forests green and dim, It may be that my love crept out And brought the dream to him. And sometimes when his heart is sick And suddenly grows well again, It may be that my love was there To free his life of pain.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Houses Of Dreams