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Rivers to the Sea

by Sara Teasdale

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Pity

THEY never saw my lover’s face,
     They only know our love was brief,
  Wearing awhile a windy grace
     And passing like an autumn leaf.

They wonder why I do not weep,
     They think it strange that I can sing,
  They say, “Her love was scarcely deep
     Since it has left so slight a sting.”

They never saw my love, nor knew
     That in my heart’s most secret place
  I pity them as angels do

Men who have never seen God’s face.

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