Sara Teasdale

Open Windows

  Out of the window a sea of green trees
   Lift their soft boughs like the arms of a dancer,
  They beckon and call me, "Come out in the sun!"
   But I cannot answer.

  I am alone with Weakness and Pain,
   Sick abed and June is going,
  I cannot keep her, she hurries by
   With the silver-green of her garments blowing.

  Men and women pass in the street
   Glad of the shining sapphire weather,
  But we know more of it than they,
   Pain and I together.

  They are the runners in the sun,
   Breathless and blinded by the race,
  But we are watchers in the shade
   Who speak with Wonder face to face.