The Wind

by 

A wind is blowing over my soul,
I hear it cry the whole night through,
Is there no peace for me on earth
Except with you?

Alas, the wind has made me wise,
Over my naked soul it blew,
There is no peace for me on earth
Even with you.

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Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Wind In The Hemlock

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