Sara Teasdale

(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)

Poems of Sara Teasdale

141. To E. 12/31/2002
142. To-nigh 12/31/2002
143. Twilight 12/31/2002
144. Understanding 12/31/2002
145. Water Lilies 12/31/2002
146. White Fog 12/31/2002
147. Wild Asters 12/31/2002

Dust

When I went to look at what had long been hidden,
A jewel laid long ago in a secret place,
I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire --
But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.

I almost gave my life long ago for a thing
That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes --
It is strange how often a heart must be broken
Before the years can make it wise.

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