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.

1. In a Garden
2. In Spring, Santa Barbara
3. Nahant
4. Winter Stars
5. A Boy

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