Explore "The Blind" by Sara Teasdale on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.