My heart has grown rich with the passing of years,
I have less need now than when I was young
To share myself with every comer
Or shape my thoughts into words with my tongue.
It is one to me that they come or go
If I have myself and the drive of my will,
And strength to climb on a summer night
And watch the stars swarm over the hill.
Let them think I love them more than I do,
Let them think I care, though I go alone;
If it lifts their pride, what is it to me
Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone.
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Comments about this poem (The Solitary by Sara Teasdale )
- unheard pleas, cheynne dries
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- ZZ Ernest Johnson, MD, Saiom Shriver
- soaking in the arms of a phantom, Mandolyn ...
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