Sara Teasdale

(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)

I Remembered


There never was a mood of mine,
Gay or heart-broken, luminous or dull,
But you could ease me of its fever
And give it back to me more beutiful.
In many another soul I broke the bread,
And drank the wine and played the happy guest,
But I was lonely, I remembered you;
The heart belong to him who knew it best.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 31, 2002

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  • Lesa K (8/2/2006 3:27:00 PM)

    The words ache in this poem. For all the sorrow, there is also joy. (Report) Reply

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