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 shy years,
As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.
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 shy years,
As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.
Sara Teasdale
