Treasure Island

Sara Teasdale

(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)

After Love


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.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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  • * Sunprincess * (6/5/2014 11:05:00 PM)

    ..........love is a beautiful theme for a poem....but after love not so much.....great write... (Report) Reply

  • Chhavi Anupam (4/11/2006 4:40:00 AM)

    After Love is a deep poem, though there has been magic of love, but it has been very transitory...the splendor of wind on the sea analogy the poet has used. But now the poet has got confined to a small pool....which is away from the storms of the sea, it is secure in its safe world....but it is bitter.

    Why had Sarah to distance herself and then mull over that love.... melancholy and bitter....certainly there is disillusionment and unbridgeable discreet distance, otherwise more happy verses could have gushed, depending upon the intesity, rage, velocity of the wind and its capacity to ruffle, tamper or move the sea (Sarah) , instead of making her retrace and become a recluse (pool) . (Report) Reply

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