Sara Teasdale: Meadowlarks


In the silver light after a storm,  Under dripping boughs of bright new green, I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks  Alone and high-hearted as if I were a queen.
What have I to fear in life or death  Who have known three things:  the kiss in the night, The white flying joy when a song is born,  And meadowlarks whistling in silver light.