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Sara Teasdale Short Poems

Famous Short Sara Teasdale Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Sara Teasdale. A collection of the all-time best Sara Teasdale short poems


by Sara Teasdale
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.



by Sara Teasdale
 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.

Alone  Create an image from this poem
by Sara Teasdale
 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.

by Sara Teasdale
 I have come to bury Love
 Beneath a tree,
In the forest tall and black
 Where none can see.
I shall put no flowers at his head, Nor stone at his feet, For the mouth I loved so much Was bittersweet.
I shall go no more to his grave, For the woods are cold.
I shall gather as much of joy As my hands can hold.
I shall stay all day in the sun Where the wide winds blow, -- But oh, I shall cry at night When none will know.

by Sara Teasdale
 Your eyes drink of me,
Love makes them shine,
Your eyes that lean
So close to mine.
We have long been lovers, We know the range Of each other's moods And how they change; But when we look At each other so Then we feel How little we know; The spirit eludes us, Timid and free— Can I ever know you Or you know me?

by Sara Teasdale
 It was April when you came
The first time to me,
And my first look in your eyes
Was like my first look at the sea.
We have been together Four Aprils now Watching for the green On the swaying willow bough; Yet whenever I turn To your gray eyes over me, It is as though I looked For the first time at the sea.

by Sara Teasdale
 Like barley bending
In low fields by the sea,
Singing in hard wind
Ceaselessly;

Like barley bending
And rising again,
So would I, unbroken,
Rise from pain;

So would I softly,
Day long, night long,
Change my sorrow
Into song.



by Sara Teasdale
 Did you never know, long ago, how much you loved me—
That your love would never lessen and never go?
You were young then, proud and fresh-hearted,
You were too young to know.
Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly before it Far apart, far away in the gusty time of year— Seldom we meet now, but when I hear you speaking, I know your secret, my dear, my dear.

by Sara Teasdale
 I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone 
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.
Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me The cold and sparkling silver of the sea -- We two will pass through death and ages lengthen Before you hear that sound again with me.

by Sara Teasdale
 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.

by Sara Teasdale
 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.

by Sara Teasdale
 I understood the rest too well,
And all their thoughts have come to be
Clear as grey sea-weed in the swell
Of a sunny shallow sea.
But you I never understood, Your spirit's secret hides like gold Sunk in a Spanish galleon Ages ago in waters cold.

by Sara Teasdale
 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.

A Cry  Create an image from this poem
by Sara Teasdale
 Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
 And hands to make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be
 Only a voice.
Oh, there are breasts to bear his head, And lips whereon his lips can lie, But I must be till I am dead Only a cry.

by Sara Teasdale
 My heart is heavy with many a song
Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree, 
But I can never give you one --
My songs do not belong to me.
Yet in the evening, in the dusk When moths go to and fro, In the gray hour if the fruit has fallen, Take it, no one will know.

by Sara Teasdale
 There is no magic any more,
 We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
 Nor I for you.
You were the wind and I the sea -- There is no splendor any more, I have grown listless as the pool Beside the shore.
But though the pool is safe from storm And from the tide has found surcease, It grows more bitter than the sea, For all its peace.

by Sara Teasdale
 You took my empty dreams
 And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
 April and the sun.
The old empty dreams Where my thoughts would throng Are far too full of happiness To even hold a song.
Oh, the empty dreams were dim And the empty dreams were wide, They were sweet and shadowy houses Where my thoughts could hide.
But you took my dreams away And you made them all come true -- My thoughts have no place now to play, And nothing now to do.

Doubt  Create an image from this poem
by Sara Teasdale
 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?

by Sara Teasdale
 The moon is a curving flower of gold,
 The sky is still and blue;
The moon was made for the sky to hold,
 And I for you.
The moon is a flower without a stem, The sky is luminous; Eternity was made for them, To-night for us.

by Sara Teasdale
 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.

Enough  Create an image from this poem
by Sara Teasdale
 It is enough for me by day
 To walk the same bright earth with him;
Enough that over us by night
 The same great roof of stars is dim.
I do not hope to bind the wind Or set a fetter on the sea -- It is enough to feel his love Blow by like music over me.

by Sara Teasdale
 To-night I close my eyes and see
A strange procession passing me --
The years before I saw your face
Go by me with a wistful grace;
They pass, the sensitive, shy years,
As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.
The years went by and never knew That each one brought me nearer you; Their path was narrow and apart And yet it led me to your heart -- Oh, sensitive, shy years, oh, lonely years, That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears.

by Sara Teasdale
 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.

by Sara Teasdale
 All that could never be said,
All that could never be done,
Wait for us at last
Somewhere back of the sun;

All the heart broke to forego
Shall be ours without pain,
We shall take them as lightly as girls
Pluck flowers after rain.
And when they are ours in the end Perhaps after all The skies will not open for us Nor heaven be there at our call.

Debt  Create an image from this poem
by Sara Teasdale
 What do I owe to you
 Who loved me deep and long?
You never gave my spirit wings
 Or gave my heart a song.
But oh, to him I loved, Who loved me not at all, I owe the open gate That led through heaven's wall.


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