Open Windows

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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Out of the window a sea of green trees Lift their soft boughs like the arms of a dancer, They beckon and call me, "Come out in the sun!" But I cannot answer. I am alone with Weakness and Pain, Sick abed and June is going, I cannot keep her, she hurries by With the silver-green of her garments blowing. Men and women pass in the street Glad of the shining sapphire weather, But we know more of it than they, Pain and I together. They are the runners in the sun, Breathless and blinded by the race, But we are watchers in the shade Who speak with Wonder face to face.

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