To L. R. E.

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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When first I saw you, felt you take my hand, I could not speak for happiness to find How more than all they said your heart was kind, How strong you were, and quick to understand, I dared not say: "I who am least of those Who call you friend, I love you, and I crave A little love that I may be more brave Because one watches me who cares and knows." So, silent, long ago I used to look High up along the shelves at one great book, And longed to see its contents, childishwise, And now I know it for my Poet's own,, So sometime shall I know you and be known, And looking upward, I shall find your eyes.

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