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Poem by Sara Teasdale

But Not to Me

  The April night is still and sweet
   With flowers on every tree;
  Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
      But not to me.

  My peace is hidden in his breast
   Where I shall never be;
  Love comes to-night to all the rest,
      But not to me.

Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale's other poems:
  1. Song at Capri
  2. Primavera Mia
  3. After Parting
  4. Debt
  5. Gifts

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