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February

by Sara Teasedale
They spoke of him I love
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February

by Sara Teasedale
They spoke of him I love
   With cruel words and gay;
My lips kept silent guard
   On all I could not say.
I heard, and down the street
   The lonely trees in the square
Stood in the winter wind
   Patient and bare.
I heard . . . oh voiceless trees
   Under the wind, I knew
The eager terrible spring
   Hidden in you.

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