| The Solitary My heart has grown rich with the passing of years, I have less need now than when I was young To share myself with every comer, Or shape my thoughts into words with my tongue. It is one to me that they come or go If I have myself and the drive of my will, And strength to climb on a summer night And watch the stars swarm over the hill. Let me think I love them more than I do, Let them think I care, though I go alone, If it lifts their pride, what is it to me, Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone? - Sara Teasdale |
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