A Cry

Poem By Sara Teasdale

Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands to make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be
Only a voice.

Oh, there are breasts to bear his head,
And lips whereon his lips can lie,
But I must be till I am dead
Only a cry.


Submitted by Venus

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Other poems of TEASDALE

Advice To A Girl

No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;

A Winter Night

My window-pane is starred with frost,
The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

After Parting

Oh I have sown my love so wide
That he will find it everywhere;
It will awake him in the night,
It will enfold him in the air.

After Love

There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.

Alone

I am alone, in spite of love,
In spite of all I take and give—
In spite of all your tenderness,
Sometimes I am not glad to live.

After Death

Now while my lips are living
Their words must stay unsaid,
And will my soul remember
To speak when I am dead?