How many million Aprils came
before I ever knew
how white a cherry bough could be,
a bed of squills, how blue

And many a dancing April
when life is done with me,
will lift the blue flame of the flower
and the white flame of the tree

Oh burn me with your beauty then,
oh hurt me tree and flower,
lest in the end death try to take
even this glistening hour...

Mirror of the Heart: Poems of Sara Teasdale (ed. MacMillan Publishing Company, 1984)