The River

by Sara Teasdale

I came from the sunny valleys
  And sought for the open sea,
For I thought in its gray expanses
  My peace would come to me.

I came at last to the ocean
  And found it wild and black,
And I cried to the windless valleys,
  "Be kind and take me back!"

But the thirsty tide ran inland,
  And the salt waves drank of me,
And I who was fresh as the rainfall
  Am bitter as the sea.

Monadnock Valley Press > Teasdale