Sara Teasdale

* * *

I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
 The fragile secret of a flower,
Music, the making of a poem
 That gave me heaven for an hour;

First stars above a snowy hill,
 Voices of people kindly and wise,
And the great look of love, long hidden,
 Found at last in meeting eyes.

I have loved much and been loved deeply—
 Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,
Leave me the darkness and the stillness,
 I shall be tired and glad to go.