Sara Teasdale - Song Making

My heart cried like a beaten child
Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
And thread them into a song.

One was a cry at black midnight
And one when the first cock crew --
My heart was like a beaten child,
But no one ever knew.

Life, you have put me in your debt
And I must serve you long --
But oh, the debt is terrible
That must be paid in song.

Sara Teasdale

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-making/