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Sara Teasdale - The Blind
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The birds are all a-building, 
They say the world`s a-flower, 
And still I linger lonely 
Within a barren bower.

I weave a web of fancies 
Of tears and darkness spun. 
How shall I sing of sunlight 
Who never saw the sun?

I hear the pipes a-blowing, 
But yet I may not dance, 
I know that Love is passing, 
I cannot catch his glance.

And if his voice should call me 
And I with groping dim 
Should reach his place of calling 
And stretch my arms to him,

The wind would blow between my hands 
For Joy that I shall miss, 
The rain would fall upon my mouth 
That his will never kiss.
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