Spring Torrents

by Sara Teasdale
Will it always be like this until I am dead,
 Every spring must I bear it all again
With the first red haze of the budding maple boughs,
 And the first sweet-smelling rain?
Oh I am like a rock in the rising river
 Where the flooded water breaks with a low call —
Like a rock that knows the cry of the waters
 And cannot answer at all.