The Treasure

by Sara Teasdale

When they see my songs
  They will sigh and say,
"Poor soul, wistful soul,
  Lonely night and day."

They will never know
  All your love for me
Surer than the spring,
  Stronger than the sea;

Hidden out of sight
  Like a miser's gold
In forsaken fields
  Where the wind is cold.

Monadnock Valley Press > Teasdale