Sara Teasdale

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

Dust - Poem by Sara Teasdale

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.


Submitted by Venus


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Read poems about / on: fire, dark, heart, life



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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