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Read more poems by Sara Teasdale: Sara Teasdale Poems at Poetry X.

The April night is still and sweet
 With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
    But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast
 Where I shall never be;
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
    But not to me.


Submitted by Venus

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Sep 2008 9:31 AM | Viewed: 3316 times

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