Sara Teasdale

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

The Wind - Poem by Sara Teasdale

A wind is blowing over my soul,
I hear it cry the whole night thro' --
Is there no peace for me on earth
Except with you?

Alas, the wind has made me wise,
Over my naked soul it blew, --
There is no peace for me on earth
Even with you.


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Read poems about / on: peace, wind, night



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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