The Tree Of Song - Poem by Sara Teasdale
I sang my songs for the rest,
For you I am still;
The tree of my song is bare
On its shining hill.
For you came like a lordly wind,
And the leaves were whirled
Far as forgotten things
Past the rim of the world.
The tree of my song stands bare
Against the blue --
I gave my songs to the rest,
Myself to you.
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