Swans

Sara Teasdale 1884 – 1933

Night is over the park, and a few brave stars

Look on the lights that link it with chains of gold,

The lake bears up their reflection in broken bars

That seem to heavy for tremulous water to hold.

We watch the swans that sleep in a shadowy place,

And now and again one wakes and uplifts its head;

How still you are—your gaze is on my face—

We watch the swans and never a word is said.

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