Sara Teasedale: The Years

The Years

To-night I close my eyes and see A strange procession passing me— The years before I saw your face Go by me with a wistful grace; They pass, the sensitive shy years, As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.
The years went by and never knew That each one brought me nearer you; Their path was narrow and apart And yet it led me to your heart— Oh sensitive shy years, oh lonely years, That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears.