Sara Teasdale: The Kiss
Sara Teasdale
(1884 – 1933)
The Kiss
I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.
For tho’ I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.
Sara Teasdale poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine
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