Subverse Aphrodesia

Will it always be like this until I am dead,
  Every spring must I bear it all again
With the first red haze of the budding maple boughs,
  And the first sweet-smelling rain?

Oh I am like a rock in the rising river
  Where the flooded water breaks with a low call --
Like a rock that knows the cry of the waters
  And cannot answer at all.

--Sara Teasdale