The Blind

From Wikisource

The Blind by Sara Teasdale

From Helen of Troy and Other Poems Part II

The birds are all a-building,
      They say the world's a-flower,
And still I linger lonely
      Within a barren bower.

I weave a web of fancies
      Of tears and darkness spun.
How shall I sing of sunlight
      Who never saw the sun?

I hear the pipes a-blowing,
      But yet I may not dance,
I know that Love is passing,
      I cannot catch his glance.

And if his voice should call me
      And I with groping dim
Should reach his place of calling
      And stretch my arms to him,

The wind would blow between my hands
      For Joy that I shall miss,
The rain would fall upon my mouth
      That his will never kiss.