A Prayer

Sara Teasdale

When I am dying, let me know
That I loved the blowing snow
Although it stung like whips;

That I loved all lovely things
And I tried to take their stings
With gay unembittered lips;

That I loved with all my strength,
To my soul's full depth and length,
Careless if my heart must break;

That I sang as children sing
Fitting tunes to everything,
Loving life for its own sake.

Flame and Shadow

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