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Alone

by Sara Teasdale

I am alone, in spite of love,

In spite of all I take and give—

In spite of all your tenderness,

Sometimes I am not glad to live.

I am alone, as though I stood

On the highest peak of the tired gray world,

About me only swirling snow,

Above me, endless space unfurled;

With earth hidden and heaven hidden,

And only my own spirit's pride

To keep me from the peace of those

Who are not lonely, having died.

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