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.
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Comments about this poem (A Cry by Sara Teasdale )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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