Sara Teasdale

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

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
Were growing,
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

  • (11/11/2015 7:46:00 PM)


    .........wonderful theme, and excellent metaphors ★ (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: rain, pain, dark, flower



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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