Explore "Spring" by Sara Teasdale on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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?