Sara Teasdale August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933 American lyric poet

What Do I Care? What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring, That my songs do not show me at all? For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a fire, I am an answer, they are only a call. But what do I care, for love will be over so soon, Let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by, For my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent, It is my heart that makes my songs, not I. Love Songs I have remembered beauty in the night, Against black silences I waked to see A shower of sunlight over Italy And green Ravello dreaming on her height; I have remembered music in the dark, The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach's, And running water singing on the rocks When once in English woods I heard a lark. But all remembered beauty is no more Than a vague prelude to the thought of you — You are the rarest soul I ever knew, Lover of beauty, knightliest and best; My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore, And when I think of you, I am at rest. A Ballad Of The Two Knights Two knights rode forth at early dawn A-seeking maids to wed, Said one, "My lady must be fair, With gold hair on her head." Then spake the other knight-at-arms: "I care not for her face, But she I love must be a dove For purity and grace." And each knight blew upon his horn And went his separate way, And each knight found a lady-love Before the fall of day. But she was brown who should have had The shining yellow hair — I ween the knights forgot their words Or else they ceased to care. For he who wanted purity Brought home a wanton wild, And when each saw the other knight I ween that each knight smiled. Wisdom When I have ceased to break my wings Against the faultiness of things, And learned that compromises wait Behind each hardly opened gate, When I have looked Life in the eyes, Grown calm and very coldly wise, Life will have given me the Truth, And taken in exchange—my youth. The Inn Of Earth I came to the crowded Inn of Earth, And called for a cup of wine, But the Host went by with averted eye From a thirst as keen as mine. Then I sat down with weariness And asked a bit of bread, But the Host went by with averted eye And never a word he said. While always from the outer night The waiting souls came in With stifled cries of sharp surprise At all the light and din. "Then give me a bed to sleep," I said, "For midnight comes apace"— But the Host went by with averted eye And I never saw his face. "Since there is neither food nor rest, I go where I fared before"— But the Host went by with averted eye And barred the outer door. Alone I am alone, in spite of love, In spite of all I take and give— In spite of all your tenderness, Sometimes I am not glad to live. 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 pride To keep me from the peace of those Who are not lonely, having died. A Little While A little while when I am gone My life will live in music after me, As spun foam lifted and borne on After the wave is lost in the full sea. A while these nights and days will burn In song with the bright frailty of foam, Living in light before they turn Back to the nothingness that is their home. 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. 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. The fountain sang and sang And on the marble rim The milk-white peacocks slept, Their dreams were strange and dim. Bright dew was on the grass, And on the ilex dew, The dreamy milk-white birds Were all a-glisten too. The fountain sang and sang The things one cannot tell, The dreaming peacocks stirred And the gleaming dew-drops fell. 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, Careless if my heart must break, That I sang as children sing Fitting tunes to everything, Loving life for its own sake. 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. 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. 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. 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. The tree of my song stands bare Against the blue — I gave my songs to the rest, Myself to you. Love In Autumn I sought among the drifting leaves, The golden leaves that once were green, To see if Love were hiding there And peeping out between. For thro' the silver showers of May And thro' the summer's heavy heat, In vain I sought his golden head And light, fast-flying feet. Perhaps when all the world is bare And cruel winter holds the land, The Love that finds no place to hide Will run and catch my hand. I shall not care to have him then, I shall be bitter and a-cold — It grows too late for frolicking When all the world is old. Then little hiding Love, come forth, Come forth before the autumn goes, And let us seek thro' ruined paths The garden's last red rose. 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. A Song Of The Princess The princess has her lovers, A score of knights has she, And each can sing a madrigal, And praise her gracefully. But Love that is so bitter Hath put within her heart A longing for the scornful knight Who silent stands apart. And tho' the others praise and plead, She maketh no reply, Yet for a single word from him, I ween that she would die. A Maiden Oh if I were the velvet rose Upon the red rose vine, I'd climb to touch his window And make his casement fine. And if I were the little bird That twitters on the tree, All day I'd sing my love for him Till he should harken me. But since I am a maiden I go with downcast eyes, And he will never hear the songs That he has turned to sighs. And since I am a maiden My love will never know That I could kiss him with a mouth More red than roses blow. I Have Loved Hours At Sea I have loved hours at sea, gray cities, The fragile secret of a flower, Music, the making of a poem That gave me heaven for an hour; First stars above a snowy hill, Voices of people kindly and wise, And the great look of love, long hidden, Found at last in meeting eyes. I have loved much and been loved deeply — Oh when my spirit's fire burns low, Leave me the darkness and the stillness, I shall be tired and glad to go.

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Sara Teasdale Poems