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1884–1933

The Years

Sara Teasdale

To-night I close my eyes and see A strange procession passing me — The years before I saw your face Go by me with a wistful grace;

They pass, the sensitive, shy years, As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears. The years went by and never knew That each one brought me nearer you;

Their path was narrow and apart And yet it led me to your heart — Oh, sensitive, shy years, oh, lonely years, That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears.

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The Years · Sara Teasdale · Poetry Cove