Sara Teasdale: Всі вірші поета

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The Tree Of Song

I sang my songs for the rest,

For you I am still;

The tree of my song is bare

On its shining hill.

For you came like a lordly wind,

And the leaves were whirled

Far as forgotten things

Past the rim of the world.

Sara Teasdale

Because

Oh, because you never tried

To bow my will or break my pride,

And nothing of the cave-man made

You want to keep me half afraid,

Nor ever with a conquering air

You thought to draw me unaware —

Take me, for I love you more

Than I ever loved before.

Sara Teasdale

I Am Not Yours

I am not yours, not lost in you,

Not lost, although I long to be

Lost as a candle lit at noon,

Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still

A spirit beautiful and bright,

Yet I am I, who long to be

Lost as a light is lost in light.

Sara Teasdale

At Midnight

Now at last I have come to see what life is,

Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun,

And the brave victories that seem so splendid

Are never really won.

Even love that I built my spirit's house for,

Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest,

And music and men's praise and even laughter

Are not so good as rest.

Sara Teasdale

Doubt

My soul lives in my body's house,

And you have both the house and her —

But sometimes she is less your own

Than a wild, gay adventurer;

A restless and an eager wraith,

How can I tell what she will do —

Oh, I am sure of my body's faith,

But what if my soul broke faith with you?

Sara Teasdale

Two Minds

Your mind and mine are such great lovers they

Have freed themselves from cautious human clay,

And on wild clouds of thought, naked together

They ride above us in extreme delight;

We see them, we look up with a lone envy

And watch them in their zone of crystal weather

That changes not for winter or the night.

Sara Teasdale

Let It Be Forgotten

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,

Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,

Let it be forgotten forever and ever,

Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

If anyone asks, say it was forgotten

Long and long ago,

As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall

In a long-forgotten snow.

Sara Teasdale

Moonlight

It will not hurt me when I am old,

A running tide where moonlight burned

Will not sting me like silver snakes;

The years will make me sad and cold,

It is the happy heart that breaks.

The heart asks more than life can give,

When that is learned, then all is learned;

The waves break fold on jewelled fold,

Sara Teasdale

A Prayer

When I am dying, let me know

That I loved the blowing snow

Although it stung like whips;

That I loved all lovely things

And I tried to take their stings

With gay unembittered lips;

That I loved with all my strength,

To my soul's full depth and length,

Sara Teasdale

The Fountain

Oh in the deep blue night

The fountain sang alone;

It sang to the drowsy heart

Of a satyr carved in stone.

The fountain sang and sang

But the satyr never stirred—

Only the great white moon

In the empty heaven heard.

Sara Teasdale

In The Train

Fields beneath a quilt of snow

From which the rocks and stubble sleep,

And in the west a shy white star

That shivers as it wakes from deep.

The restless rumble of the train,

The drowsy people in the car,

Steel blue twilight in the world,

And in my heart a timid star.

Sara Teasdale

Roundel

If he could know my songs are all for him,

At silver dawn or in the evening glow,

Would he not smile and think it but a whim,

If he could know?

Or would his heart rejoice and overflow,

As happy brooks that break their icy rim

When April's horns along the hillsides blow?

I may not speak till Eros' torch is dim,

Sara Teasdale