They spoke of him I love
With cruel words and gay;
My lips kept silent guard
On all I could not say.
I heard, and down the street
The lonely trees in the square
Stood in the winter wind
Patient and bare.
I heard . . . oh voiceless trees
Under the wind, I knew
The eager terrible spring
Hidden in you.
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Sun 04.17.2011 at 14:05
Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep,
And shall my soul that lies within your hand
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Sun 04.17.2011 at 06:56
Gray pilgrim, you have journeyed far,
I pray you tell to me
Is there a land where Love is not,
By shore of any sea?
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Mon 04.11.2011 at 22:58
My soul is a dark ploughed field
In the cold rain;
My soul is a broken field
Ploughed by pain.
Where grass and bending flowers
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Sun 04.10.2011 at 06:28
Deep in the night the cry of a swallow,
Under the stars he flew,
Keen as pain was his call to follow
Over the world to you.
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Thu 03.31.2011 at 01:02
So soon my body will have gone
Beyond the sound and sight of men,
And tho' it wakes and suffers now,