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Rivers to the Sea

by Sara Teasdale

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February

THEY spoke of him I love
     With cruel words and gay;
  My lips kept silent guard
     On all I could not say.

I heard, and down the street
     The lonely trees in the square
  Stood in the winter wind
     Patient and bare.

I heard... oh voiceless trees
     Under the wind, I knew
  The eager terrible spring
     Hidden in you.

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