Sara Teasdale Poems

The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.
...

Her voice is like clear water
That drips upon a stone
In forests far and silent
Where Quiet plays alone.
...

Alone in the night
On a dark hill
With pines around me
Spicy and still,
...

Oh, there are eyes that he can see,
And hands to make his hands rejoice,
But to my lover I must be
Only a voice.
...

Across the dimly lighted room
The violin drew wefts of sound,
Airily they wove and wound
And glimmered gold against the gloom.
...

I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.
...

Send out the singers -- let the room be still;
They have not eased my pain nor brought me sleep.
Close out the sun, for I would have it dark
That I may feel how black the grave will be.
...

Beside an ebbing northern sea
While stars awaken one by one,
We walk together, I and he.
...

A little while when I am gone
My life will live in music after me,
As spun foam lifted and borne on
After the wave is lost in the full sea.
...

I am wild, I will sing to the trees,
I will sing to the stars in the sky,
I love, I am loved, he is mine,
Now at last I can die!
...