Less than the cloud to the wind, Less than the foam to the sea, Less than the rose to the storm Am I to thee. More than the star to the night, More … - Sara Teasdale

I Have Loved Hours at Sea

I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
The fragile secret of a flower,
Music, the making of a poem
That gave me heaven for an hour;

First stars above a snowy hill,
Voices of people kindly and wise,
And the great look of love, long hidden,
Found at last in meeting eyes.

I have loved much and been loved deeply — Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,
Leave me the darkness and the stillness,
I shall be tired and glad to go.

To-night I close my eyes and see
A strange procession passing me–
The years before I saw your face
Go by me with a wistful grace;
They pass, the sensitive, shy years,
As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.

The years went by and never knew
That each one brought me nearer you;
Their path was narrow and apart
And yet it led me to your heart–
Oh, sensitive, shy years, oh, lonely years,
That strove to sing with voices drown in tears.

This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead That sparkled so the day I saw it first, And darkened slowly after. I am she Who loves all beauty — yet I wither it.