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User Rating:
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6.3
/10
(28 votes)
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The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.
My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be,
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
But not to me.
Sara Teasdale
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: april, peace, tree, night, love, flower
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Comments about this poem (But Not to Me
by
Sara Teasdale
) |
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Anonymous *plz comment! * (2/25/2009 8:18:00 PM)
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Okay seriously...she is one of the best poets ever and i just found out about her yesterday in english class, i. love. sara teasdale. :) awesome stuff here, i don't get y so many people groan when they hear we are doing anything dealing with poetry, i mean have they ever taken the time to appreciate it? i doubt it
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