Sara Teasdale (8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)
Poems by Sara Teasdale : 17 / 147
A Winter Night
My window-pane is starred with frost,
The world is bitter cold to-night,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
Is like a two-edged sword to smite.
God pity all the homeless ones,
The beggars pacing to and fro,
God pity all the poor to-night
Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.
My room is like a bit of June,
Warm and close-curtained fold on fold,
But somewhere, like a homeless child,
My heart is crying in the cold.
Sara Teasdale
Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Read poems about / on: june, snow, moon, child, wind, god, night, world, winter, heart, children, star
Poems by Sara Teasdale : 17 / 147
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There is a sincere and powerful pathos in these gentle words.
Oh! my god she has a perfect style, and deep feelings of sympathy, I LOVE her style so much.
I absolutely love her work! The more I read the more I understand and relate to her! (=
What a great poem :) I just remembered that my eight grade English class reead it. It fills my senses.
Wow, I am so impressed with this poem! The more I read your work and understand it, relate to it...the more I look forward to reading it and memorizing some of your work.
You are Great.
==Shelley==