by Sara Teasdale
When I am all alone
 Envy me most,
Then my thoughts flutter round me
 In a glimmering host;
Some dressed in silver,
 Some dressed in white,
Each like a taper
 Blossoming light;
Most of them merry,
 Some of them grave,
Each of them lithe
 As willows that wave;
Some bearing violets,
 Some bearing bay,
One with a burning rose
 Hidden away —
When I am all alone
 Envy me then,
For I have better friends
 Than women and men.