|
|
Meadowlarks
By Sara Teasdale
In the silver light after a storm,
Under dripping boughs of bright new green,
I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks
Alone and high-hearted as if I were a queen.
What have I to fear in life or death
Who have known three things: the kiss in the night,
The white flying joy when a song is born,
And meadowlarks whistling in silver light.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 899 times.
|
|
