Author Sara Teasdale I dream that he is mine, I dream that he is true, And all his words I keep As rose-leaves hold the dew. O little thirsty rose, O little heart beware, Lest you should hope to hold A hundred roses' share. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 5 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments