Sara Teasdale

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

The Song Maker - Poem by Sara Teasdale

I made a hundred little songs
That told the joy and pain of love,
And sang them blithely, tho' I knew
No whit thereof.

I was a weaver deaf and blind;
A miracle was wrought for me,
But I have lost my skill to weave
Since I can see.

For while I sang -- ah swift and strange!
Love passed and touched me on the brow,
And I who made so many songs
Am silent now.


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Read poems about / on: joy, lost, pain, love, song



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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