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User Rating: |
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9.0
/10
(32
votes)
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Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.
Only in sleep Time is forgotten --
What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago,
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.
The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,
I met their eyes and found them mild --
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,
And for them am I too a child?
Sarah Teasdale
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Read poems about / on: child, sleep, house, children, hair, dream, night, time
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Comments about this poem ("Only in Sleep"
by
Sarah Teasdale
) |
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comments about this poem ("Only in Sleep" by
Sarah Teasdale
)
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Claudia Krizay
(9/2/2009 8:31:00 PM) |
notbad but in my opinion only satisfactory- I have read better poems on this site that I would rather see being poem of the week.
anonymous
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Michael Harmon
(9/2/2009 1:07:00 PM) |
Perhaps, in sleep-and the requirements of poetic theme-time, and rhyme schemes, are forgotten...
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Kevin Straw
(9/2/2009 5:40:00 AM) |
The middle verse jars a bit because of the absence of the rhyme pattern set in the first. One wonders at the personal context of such a sad retrospective poem.
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Hazem Al Jaber
(9/2/2009 5:06:00 AM) |
true dear poet..
just when we got off mind gets it desires and a reality only when we sleep..
wonderful written..
hazem al..
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Talia Anziliero
(9/2/2007 7:56:00 PM) |
Wonderfully written. The expressions and detail of memory was awe inspiring. Sweet and tender. But like Jim Jensen I agree, a hint of melancholy. Lovely, I enjoyed reading it.
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Jim Jensen
(9/2/2005 11:27:00 AM) |
Wonderful, rich and vivid images of the scenes of my youth (male version of course) . The poem evokes such happy thoughts/memories, simpler times. It leads to me to wonder if I am making such memories for my children, and will they be able to fondly remember playing with the dollhouse at the top of the stairs.
I especially love the idea that sleep and imagination are the only places where time can not reach.
Sarah Teasdale's poems are very powerful. They have a melancholy undertone of which far exceeds her 49 years. It makes you wonder how old was she when she wrote such verse – and further, where did all the feelings stem from?
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