Sara Teasdale

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

To Erinna - Poem by Sara Teasdale

Was Time not harsh to you, or was he kind,
O pale Erinna of the perfect lyre,
That he has left no word of singing fire
Whereby you waked the dreaming Lesbian wind,
And kindled night along the lyric shore?
O girl whose lips Erato stooped to kiss,
Do you go sorrowing because of this
In fields where poets sing forevermore?
Or are you glad and is it best to be
A silent music men have never heard,
A dream in all our souls that we may say:
"Her voice had all the rapture of the sea,
And all the clear cool quiver of a bird
Deep in a forest at the break of day"?


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Read poems about / on: lyric, girl, music, kiss, dream, fire, wind, sea, night, time, sorrow



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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