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Sara Teasdale - Rispetto
Work rating: Low

Was that his step that sounded on the stair? 
Was that his knock I heard upon the door? 
I grow so tired I almost cease to care, 
And yet I would that he might come once more.

It was the wind I heard, that mocks at me, 
The bitter wind that is more cruel than he; 
It was the wind that knocked upon the door, 
But he will never knock nor enter more.
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