Spring Torrents

A poem by Sara Teasdale

Will it always be like this until I am dead,
Every spring must I bear it all again
With the first red haze of the budding maple boughs,
And the first sweet-smelling rain?

Oh I am like a rock in the rising river
Where the flooded water breaks with a low call,
Like a rock that knows the cry of the waters
And cannot answer at all.

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