Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdalewas an American lyric poet. She was born Sarah Trevor Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri, and used the name Sara Teasdale Filsinger after her marriage in 1914...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth8 August 1884
CitySt. Louis, MO
CountryUnited States of America
tired autumn years
The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die...
lonely tired space
I am alone, as though I stood On the highest peak of the tired gray world,About me only swirling snow, Above me, endless space unfurled;With earth hidden and heaven hidden, And only my own spirit's prideTo keep me from the peace of those Who are not lonely, having died.
summer tired moon
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.
tired come-back-to-me hush
Places I love come back to me like music, / Hush me and heal me when I am very tired ...
tired heart autumn
My heart is a garden tired with autumn.
action goes shall
I shall make the most of all that comes: And the least of all that goes
half life
There's nothing half so real in life as the things you've done...inexorably, unalterably done.
frail life moth web
Life is a frail moth flyingCaught in the web of the years that pass.
american-author orator
Then, like an old-time orator impressively he rose; I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes.
calm exchange eyes given grown life taken youth
When I can look at Life with eyes, Grown calm and very coldly wise; Life will have given me the Truth, And taken in exchange - my youth
sad broken-heart dream
Though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad; his kiss was not so wonderful as all the dreams I had.
stars sunset sky
I am the pool of gold When sunset burns and dies-- You are my deepening skies; Give me your stars to hold
death beach night
Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning, We will come back to earth some fragrant night, And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white. We will come down at night to these resounding beaches And the long gentle thunder of the sea, Here for a single hour in the wide starlight We shall be happy, for the dead are free.
lying flower gay
This is the spot where I will lie When life has had enough of me, These are the grasses that will blow Above me like a living sea. These gay old lilies will not shrink To draw their life from death of mine, And I will give my body's fire To make blue flowers on this vine. "O Soul," I said, "have you no tears? Was not the body dear to you?" I heard my soul say carelessly, "The myrtle flowers will grow more blue.