Stars

Alone in the night
On a dark hill
With pines around me
Spicy and still,

And a heaven full of stars
Over my head
White and topaz
And misty red;

Myriads with beating
Hearts of fire
The aeons
Cannot vex or tire;

Up the dome of heaven
Like a great hill
I watch them marching
Stately and still.

And I know that I
Am honored to be
Witness
Of so much majesty.

(Sara Teasdale)

--this poem was brought to you by minoanmiss -- many thanks!

May Day by Sarah Teasdale

A delicate fabric of bird song Floats in the air, The smell of wet wild earth Is everywhere. Red small leaves of the maple Are clenched like a hand, Like girls at their first communion The pear trees stand. Oh I must pass nothing by Without loving it much, The raindrop try with my lips, The grass with my touch; For how can I be sure I shall see again The world on the first of May Shining after the rain? This poem is in the public domain. Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933) was a Missouri-born poet afflicted with poor health from birth. She loved one man but married another, divorced, lost her best friend to suicide, and eventually committed suicide herself. Ironically, a majority of her poems are about love and beauty, and she won the first Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1918. There are some similarities to be drawn between Sara and Emily Dickinson; both were reclusive, both wrote intensely personal poetry that frequently focused on nature, both knew unrequited love.

The Coin by Sara Teasdale

Into my heart’s treasury I slipped a coin That time cannot take Nor a thief purloin, Oh better than the minting Of a gold-crowned king Is the safe-kept memory Of a lovely thing.

( poet's bio )

Lost Things

OH, I could let the world go by,
Its loud new wonders and its wars,
But how will I give up the sky
When winter dusk is set with stars?
And I could let the cities go,
Their changing customs and their creeds,—
But oh, the summer rains that blow
In silver on the jewel-weeds!

Sara Teasdale

http://www.poemhunter.com/

There Will Come Soft Rains

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.

Sara Teasdale

http://www.poemhunter.com/

Roses and Rue

"Bring me the roses white and red,
And cast the laurel crown away,
Yea, wreathe the roses round my head
That wearies 'neath the crown of bay."

"We searched the forest through and through
But found no roses anywhere,
But we  have brought a little rue
To twine a circlet for  your hair."

I would not pluck the rose in May,
I wove a laurel crown instead;
And when the laurel is cast away,
They bring me rue--the rose is dead.

(Sara Teasdale)

Spring Night

THE park is filled with night and fog,

The veils are drawn about the world,

The drowsy lights along the paths

Are dim and pearled.



Gold and gleaming are the empty streets,

Gold and gleaming the misty lake.

The mirrored lights like sunken swords,

Glimmer and shake.



Oh, is it not enough to be

Here with this beauty over me?

My throat should ache with praise, and I

Should kneel in joy beneath the sky.

O beauty, are you not enough?

Why am I crying after love

With youth, a singing voice, and eyes

To take earth's wonder with surprise?



Why have I put off my pride,

Why am I unsatisfied,--

I, for whom the pensive night

Binds her cloudy hair with light,--

I, for whom all beauty burns

Like incense in a million urns?

O beauty, are you not enough?

Why am I crying after love?

Sara Teasdale

Three of my favourites...
Enjoy!
Cat

****

When I go back to earth
And all this glorious body
Takes off the red and white
That once had been so proud,
If men should pass above
With false and feeble pity,
My dust shall find a voice
To answer them aloud:

"Be still, I am content,
Take back your poor compassion,
Joy was a flame in me
Too steady to destroy.
Lithe as a bending reed
Loving the storm that sways her,
I found more joy in sorrow
Than you could find in joy."



***
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.

For though I know he loves me,
Tonight my heart is sad.
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams as I've had.

****
In the spring I asked the daisies
If his words were true,
And the clever little daisies
Always knew.

Now the fields are brown and barren,
Bitter autumn blows,
And of all the stupid asters
Not one knows.

(Sara Teasdale)