Sara Teasdale

(August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933 / Missouri / United States)

At Midnight - Poem by Sara Teasdale

Now at last I have come to see what life is,
Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun,
And the brave victories that seem so splendid
Are never really won.

Even love that I built my spirit's house for,
Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest,
And music and men's praise and even laughter
Are not so good as rest.


Submitted by Venus


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Read poems about / on: laughter, music, house, life, love



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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