See, they return; ah, see the tentative
Movements, and the slow feet,
The trouble in the pace and the uncertain
See, they return, one by one,
With fear, as half-awakened;
As if the snow should hesitate
And murmur in the wind,
and half turn back;
These were the "Wing'd-with-Awe,"
Gods of the Wingèd shoe!
With them the silver hounds,
sniffing the trace of air!
These were the swift to harry;
These the keen-scented;
These were the souls of blood.
Slow on the leash,
pallid the leash-men!
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Sun 08.19.2007 at 03:13
I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
The fragile secret of a flower,
Music, the making of a poem
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Wed 07.18.2007 at 21:21
When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Though you shall lean above me broken-hearted,
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Wed 07.18.2007 at 17:39
It will not change now
After so many years;
Life has not broken it
With parting or tears;
Death will not alter it,
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Wed 07.18.2007 at 13:05
From naked stones of agony
I will build a house for me;
As a mason all alone
written by Sara Teasdale, published on Tue 07.03.2007 at 16:36
Send out the singers -- let the room be still;
They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep.