Sara Teasdale (8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)
Poems by Sara Teasdale : 14 / 147
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.
Sara Teasdale
Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Poems by Sara Teasdale : 14 / 147
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If only i could tell you! no matter i feel you know! God bless you
Another great poem for me to ponder...excellent imagery.
Always a fan of yours.
==Shelley==
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.