Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)
The River

I came from the sunny valleys
   And sought for the open sea,
For I thought in its gray expanses
   My peace would come to me.

I came at last to the ocean
   And found it wild and black,
And I cried to the windless valleys,
   “Be kind and take me back!”

But the thirsty tide ran inland,
   And the salt waves drank of me,
And I who was fresh as the rainfall
   Am bitter as the sea.

 
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