The Broken Field - Poem by Sara Teasdale
My soul is a dark ploughed field
In the cold rain;
My soul is a broken field
Ploughed by pain.
Where grass and bending flowers
The field lies broken now
For another sowing.
Great Sower when you tread
My field again,
Scatter the furrows there
With better grain.
Comments about The Broken Field by Sara Teasdale
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You