The birds are all a-building, <br />They say the world's a-flower, <br />And still I linger lonely <br />Within a barren bower. <br /> <br />I weave a web of fancies <br />Of tears and darkness spun. <br />How shall I sing of sunlight <br />Who never saw the sun? <br /> <br />I hear the pipes a-blowing, <br />But yet I may not dance, <br />I know that Love is passing, <br />I cannot catch his glance. <br /> <br />And if his voice should call me <br />And I with groping dim <br />Should reach his place of calling <br />And stretch my arms to him, <br /> <br />The wind would blow between my hands <br />For Joy that I shall miss, <br />The rain would fall upon my mouth <br />That his will never kiss.<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-blind/
