My heart is but a little house With room for only three or four, And it was filled before you knocked Upon the door. I longed to bid you come within, I knew that I should love you well, But if you came the rest must go Elsewhere to dwell. For you would never be content With just a corner in my room, Yea, if you came the rest must go Into the gloom. And so, farewell, O friend, my friend! Nay, I could weep a little too, But I shall only smile and say Farewell to you.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; The House Of Dreams