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1884–1933

A Maiden

Sara Teasdale

Oh if I were the velvet rose Upon the red rose vine, I'd climb to touch his window And make his casement fine.

And if I were the little bird That twitters on the tree, All day I'd sing my love for him Till he should harken me.

But since I am a maiden I go with downcast eyes, And he will never hear the songs That he has turned to sighs.

And since I am a maiden My love will never know That I could kiss him with a mouth More red than roses blow.

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A Maiden · Sara Teasdale · Poetry Cove