Sara Teasdale

(August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933 / Missouri / United States)

The Kiss - Poem by Sara Teasdale

I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.

For though I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.


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Read poems about / on: kiss, sad, night, heart, love, hope, dream



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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