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.

by Sara Teasdale

Comments (2)

Only Sara Teasdale can touch your soul with the simple dignity of her lines and capture your empathy with her yearning sadness
Okay seriously...she is one of the best poets ever and i just found out about her yesterday in english class, i. love. sara teasdale. :) awesome stuff here, i don't get y so many people groan when they hear we are doing anything dealing with poetry, i mean have they ever taken the time to appreciate it? i doubt it