Sara Teasdale

Unless I learn to ask no help
 From any other soul but mine,
To seek no strength in waving reeds
 Nor shade beneath a straggling pine;
Unless I learn to look at Grief
 Unshrinking from her tear-blind eyes,
And take from Pleasure fearlessly
 Whatever gifts will make me wise—
Unless I learn these things on earth,
Why was I ever given birth?

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