They came to tell your faults to me,
They named them over one by one;
I laughed aloud when they were done,
I knew them all so well before, —
Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
Your faults had made me love you more.
About the poet |
Sara Teasdale |
By the same poet |
Advice To A Girl |
After Love |
After Parting |
Alone |
Barter |
Broadway |
Child, Child |
Christmas Carol |
From The Woolworth Tower |
Guenevere |
Lights |
Love In Autumn |
In a Restaurant |
A Minuet Of Mozart’s |
A Prayer |
There Will Come Soft Rains |
A Winter Night |
Related books |
Sara Teasdale at amazon.co.uk |