Poems ✍️
  29.12.2025
  20

Author: Sara Teasdale

But Not To Me

The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be,
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
But not to me.


  love longing Nature Solitude

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