Spring

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Title:     Spring
Author: Sara Teasdale [More Titles by Teasdale]

IN Central Park the lovers sit,
On every hilly path they stroll,
Each thinks his love is infinite,
And crowns his soul.

But we are cynical and wise,
We walk a careful foot apart,
You make a little joke that tries
To hide your heart.

Give over, we have laughed enough;
Oh dearest and most foolish friend,
Why do you wage a war with love
To lose your battle in the end?

[The end]
Sara Teasdale's poem: Spring

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