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.

by Sara Teasdale

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