The Poems of Sara Teasdale

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Open Preview See a Problem? Details if other :. Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. This is an anthology of four collections of poetry by Sara Teasdale, a Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet of the early 20th century. Get A Copy. Paperback , pages. More Details Friend Reviews. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up.

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Lists with This Book. Community Reviews. Showing Average rating 4. Rating details. Sort order. Jul 09, Karen rated it it was amazing. I do not read a book of poetry from cover to cover like I do other books but I skim it and when a poem catches my interest I stop and read it.

If I haven't quite read all the poems in this anthology, I'm sure I'll eventually read them all.

I was given Sara Teasdale. Not only had I never had heard I do not read a book of poetry from cover to cover like I do other books but I skim it and when a poem catches my interest I stop and read it. Not only had I never had heard of her, I couldn't find any information about her. Folks, this was way before computers and the internet!


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Imagine my surprise when my Mom, after listening to me moan and groan about it all, told me she was familiar with Teasdale and actually had a book with some of her poetry in it! This incident might be one of the reasons I love Teasdale's poetry so much.

I encourage others to acquaint themselves with it. Jan 06, Diana rated it really liked it. I have a new favorite poet. Teasdale's work is replete with rich nature imagery tracing the ups and downs of a passionate romantic life.

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Sara Teasdale

Her poems are typically short and in standard forms rhymed quatrains, sonnets, triolets , but the forms are never forced. If Yeats were a 20th-century American woman, he would be Sara Teasdale. May 25, Beth Skye Denny rated it it was amazing. The poetry is luminous and elegant. Teasdale has been my favorite poet for ten years.


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Jan 05, Spencer Didlake rated it really liked it. I am not sorry for my soul That it must go unsatisfied, For it can live a thousand times, Eternity is deep and wide. I am not sorry for my soul, But oh, my body that must go Back to a little drift of dust Without the joy it longed to know. The Mystery. Your eyes drink of me, Love makes them shine, Your eyes that lean So close to mine. I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes; I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.

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A Prayer. I Shall Not Care. When I am dead and over me bright April Shakes out her rain-drenched hair, Though you shall lean above me broken-hearted, I shall not care. I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful When rain bends down the bough; And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted Than you are now. 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.

Water Lilies.

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If you have forgotten water lilies floating On a dark lake among mountains in the afternoon shade, If you have forgotten their wet, sleepy fragrance, Then you can return and not be afraid. But if you remember, then turn away forever To the plains and the prairies where pools are far apart, There you will not come at dusk on closing water lilies, And the shadow of mountains will not fall on your heart. Since There Is No Escape. Since there is no escape, since at the end My body will be utterly destroyed, This hand I love as I have loved a friend, This body I tended, wept with and enjoyed; Since there is no escape even for me Who love life with a love too sharp to bear: The scent of orchards in the rain, the sea And hours alone too still and sure for prayer — Since darkness waits for me, then all the more Let me go down as waves sweep to the shore In pride; and let me sing with my last breath; In these few hours of light I lift my head; Life is my lover—I shall leave the dead If there is any way to baffle death.

Love in my heart was a fresh tide flowing Where the starlike sea gulls soar; The sun was keen and the foam was blowing High on the rocky shore. But now in the dusk the tide is turning, Lower the sea gulls soar, And the waves that rose in resistless yearning Are broken forevermore. Peace flows into me As the tide to the pool by the shore; It is mine forevermore, It ebbs not back like the sea. I am the pool of blue That worships the vivid sky; My hopes were heaven-high, They are all fulfilled in you. I am the pool of gold When sunset burns and dies, — You are my deepening skies, Give me your stars to hold.

If I could have your arms tonight— But half the world and the broken sea Lie between you and me. The autumn rain reverberates in the courtyard, Beating all night against the barren stone, The sound of useless rain in the desolate courtyard Makes me more alone. If you were here, if you were only here— My blood cries out to you all night in vain As sleepless as the rain.

The Dreams Of My Heart. The dreams of my heart and my mind pass, Nothing stays with me long, But I have had from a child The deep solace of song; If that should ever leave me, Let me find death and stay With things whose tunes are played out and forgotten Like the rain of yesterday.

The Kiss.

Poem of the week: Redbirds by Sara Teasdale

I hoped that he would love me, And he has kissed my mouth, But I am like a stricken bird That cannot reach the south. I shall gather myself into myself again, I shall take my scattered selves and make them one, I shall fuse them into a polished crystal ball Where I can see the moon and the flashing sun. I shall sit like a sibyl, hour after hour intent, Watching the future come and the present go— And the little shifting pictures of people rushing In tiny self-importance to and fro.

In A Cuban Garden. Hibiscus flowers are cups of fire, Love me, my lover, life will not stay The bright poinsettia shakes in the wind, A scarlet leaf is blowing away. A lizard lifts his head and listens — Kiss me before the noon goes by, Here in the shade of the ceiba hide me From the great black vulture circling the sky.

There Will Come Soft Rains by Sara Teasdale

There Will Come Soft Rains. War Time There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum-trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone.

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. Oh plunge me deep in love—put out My senses, leave me deaf and blind, Swept by the tempest of your love, A taper in a rushing wind.

Let them think I love them more than I do, Let them think I care, though I go alone, If it lifts their pride, what is it to me Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone? It is one to me that they come or go If I have myself and the drive of my will, And strength to climb on a summer night And watch the stars swarm over the hill.

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My heart has grown rich with the passing of years, I have less need now than when I was young To share myself with every comer, Or shape my thoughts into words with my tongue. When I am all alone Envy me most, Then my thoughts flutter round me In a glimmering host; Some dressed in silver, Some dressed in white, Each like a taper Blossoming light; Most of them merry, Some of them grave, Each of them lithe As willows that wave; Some bearing violets, Some bearing bay, One with a burning rose Hidden away — When I am all alone Envy me then, For I have better friends Than women and men.

I Love You. When April bends above me And finds me fast asleep, Dust need not keep the secret A live heart died to keep. When April tells the thrushes, The meadow-larks will know, And pipe the three words lightly To all the winds that blow. Above his roof the swallows, In notes like far-blown rain, Will tell the little sparrow Beside his window-pane. O sparrow, little sparrow, When I am fast asleep, Then tell my love the secret That I have died to keep.

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