Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)




Wisdom

 

It was a night of early spring,
    The winter-sleep was scarcely broken;
Around us shadows and the wind
    Listened for what was never spoken.

Though half a score of years are gone,
    Spring comes as sharply now as then—
But if we had it all to do
    It would be done the same again.

It was a spring that never came;
    But we have lived enough to know
That what we never have, remains;
    It is the things we have that go. 

 

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sara_Teasdale

 





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Written on 2020-05-18 at 03:09

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