In the silver light after a storm,
Under dripping boughs of bright new green,
I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks
Alone and high-hearted as if I were a queen.
What have I to fear in life or death
Who have known three things: the kiss in the night,
The white flying joy when a song is born,
And meadowlarks whistling in silver light.
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Comments about this poem (Meadowlarks by Sara Teasdale )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
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William Ernest Henley
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