Sara Teasdale

(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)

A Cry


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: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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  • Veteran Poet - 4,555 Points * Sunprincess * (1/29/2014 9:39:00 PM)

    .....the title of this poem A Cry, gives me the feeling she feels unappreciated...
    the whole poem gives me this feeling as if she is leaving a lot unsaid..
    she definitely isn't writing a happy poem... (Report) Reply

  • Veteran Poet - 4,555 Points K.H. S (11/21/2004 7:45:00 PM)

    To taste a lover's being... if by smell or memory...

    Sarah has looked through the smokey glass of life that could be...

    I am a new found fan.

    Thank you Sarah. (Report) Reply

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