Pity

by Sara Teasdale

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.

Add Pity to your library.

Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; Places