Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Sara Teasdale

Feeling a little sentimental...which isn't unusual for me...came across some lovely poems by Sara Teasdale whose work I am becoming very fond of...she was seen as a sensitive writer and soul...she was quite popular in her time...won a Columbia Poetry Prize in 1918....sadly she committed suicide in 1933...


What do I owe to you
Who loved me deep and long?
You never gave my spirit wings
Nor gave my heart a song.

But oh, to him I loved,
Who loved me not at all,
I owe the little open gate
That led through heaven's wall.


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,
To-night my heart is sad;
his kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.


Stephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Stephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.


No comments: