Open Windows by Sara Teasdale

Out of the window a sea of green trees

Lift their soft boughs like the arms of a dancer,

They beckon and call me, "Come out in the sun!"

But I cannot answer.

I am alone with Weakness and Pain,

Sick abed and June is going,

I cannot keep her, she hurries by

With the silver-green of her garments blowing.

Men and women pass in the street

Glad of the shining sapphire weather,

But we know more of it than they,

Pain and I together.

They are the runners in the sun,

Breathless and blinded by the race,

But we are watchers in the shade

Who speak with Wonder face to face.