Sara Teasdale Sara Teasdale The Old Maid
I saw her in a Broadway car,
- The woman I might grow to be;
- I felt my lover look at her
- And then turn suddenly to me.
- Her hair was dull and drew no light,
- And yet its color was as mine;
- Her eyes were strangely like my eyes,
- Tho' love had never made them shine.
- Her body was a thing grown thin,
- Hungry for love that never came;
- Her soul was frozen in the dark,
- Unwarmed forever by love's flame.
- I felt my lover look at her
- And then turn suddenly to me --
- His eyes were magic to defy
- The woman I shall never be.
- The Forum Sara Teasdale