My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain. - Sara Teasdale

The Long Hill

I must have passed the crest a while ago
And now I am going down — Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know,
But the brambles were always grabbing at the hem of my gown.

All the morning I thought how proud I should be
To stand there straight as a queen,
Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me — But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen.

It was nearly level along the beaten track
And the brambles caught in my gown — But it's no use now to think of turning back,
The rest of the way will be only going down.

Only In Sleep

Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.

Only in sleep Time is forgotten — What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago,
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.

The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,
I met their eyes and found them mild — Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,
And for them am I too a child?

Oh Earth, you gave me all I have, I love you, I love you, — oh what have I That I can give you in return — Except my body after I die?