They never saw my lovers face, They only know our love was brief, Wearing awhile a windy grace And passing like an autumn leaf. They wonder why I do not weep, They think it strange that I can sing, They say, Her love was scarcely deep Since it has left so slight a sting. They never saw my love, nor knew That in my hearts most secret place I pity them as angels do Men who have never seen Gods face.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Places