The Solitary

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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My heart has grown rich with the passing of years, I have less need now than when I was young To share myself with every comer Or shape my thoughts into words with my tongue. It is one to me that they come or go If I have myself and the drive of my will, And strength to climb on a summer night And watch the stars swarm over the hill. Let them think I love them more than I do, Let them think I care, though I go alone; If it lifts their pride, what is it to me Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone.

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