Sara Teasdale

Meadowlarks

In the silver light after a storm,
 Under dripping boughs of bright new green,
I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks
 Alone and high-hearted as if I were a queen.

What have I to fear in life or death
 Who have known three things: the kiss in the night,
The white flying joy when a song is born,
 And meadowlarks whistling in silver light.