When I talk with other men I always think of you Your words are keener than their words, And they are gentler, too. When I look at other men, I wish your face were there, With its gray eyes and dark skin And tossed black hair. When I think of other men, Dreaming alone by day, The thought of you like a strong wind Blows the dreams away.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Over The Roofs