Sara Teasdale

Here you will find the Poem The Old Maid of poet 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.