Sara Teasdale

(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)

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.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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  • Words' Knight (10/5/2012 7:37:00 AM)

    Oh! my god she has a perfect style, and deep feelings of sympathy, I LOVE her style so much. (Report) Reply

  • Ashley Dowdy (5/4/2012 10:10:00 PM)

    I absolutely love her work! The more I read the more I understand and relate to her! (= (Report) Reply

  • Amy Marie (12/4/2010 10:29:00 AM)

    What a great poem :) I just remembered that my eight grade English class reead it. It fills my senses. (Report) Reply

  • Shelley L Baxter-Stanley (4/22/2007 2:41:00 AM)

    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== (Report) Reply

Read all 5 comments »

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