Sara Teasdale

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

Doctors - Poem by Sara Teasdale

Every night I lie awake
And every day I lie abed
And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,
Confering at my head.

They speak in scientific tones,
Professional and low--
One argues for a speedy cure,
The other, sure and slow.

To one so humble as myself
It should be matter for some pride
To have such noted fellows here,
Conferring at my side.


Comments about Doctors by Sara Teasdale

  • (1/2/2008 1:19:00 AM)


    How sad it must have been for her during her sickly days, but although still found the passion to keep writting.
    Bonnie
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Read poems about / on: pride, pain, death, night



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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