Sara Teasdale

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

Sara Teasdale Poems

201. Interlude: Songs Out Of Sorrow 1/1/2004
202. Water Lilies 1/3/2003
203. In The Carpenter's Shop 1/3/2003
204. The Answer 1/3/2003
205. Swans 1/3/2003
206. What Do I Care? 1/13/2003
207. May 1/3/2003
208. The Rose And The Bee 1/3/2003
209. Moonlight 1/3/2003
210. Oh Day Of Fire And Sun 1/1/2004
211. Like Barley Bending 1/1/2004
212. Love-Free 1/3/2003
213. Indian Summer 1/3/2003
214. Love Me 1/3/2003
215. Gifts 1/3/2003
216. Love In Autumn 1/3/2003
217. In A Railroad Station 1/3/2003
218. The Mystery 1/13/2003
219. In The End 1/13/2003
220. Dust 1/13/2003
221. The Princess In The Tower 1/3/2003
222. Leaves 1/3/2003
223. Love And Death 1/3/2003
224. Lights 1/1/2004
225. Dusk In June 1/3/2003
226. Beatrice 1/3/2003
227. When Love Goes 1/3/2003
228. In A Subway Station 1/3/2003
229. Coney Island 1/3/2003
230. Only In Sleep" 1/1/2004
231. Jewels 1/13/2003
232. Love Songs 1/3/2003
233. Summer Night, Riverside 1/3/2003
234. Snowfall 1/3/2003
235. It Is Not A Word 1/13/2003
236. Pity 1/3/2003
237. Silence 1/3/2003
238. Crowned 1/3/2003
239. The Dreams Of My Heart" 1/1/2004
240. Ebb Tide 1/1/2004

Comments about Sara Teasdale

  • Rohan R (7/29/2008 10:09:00 AM)

    An authentic poet that explains realities so nicely with a compressive outlook

    6 person liked.
    14 person did not like.
  • p.a. noushad p.a. noushad (7/14/2008 3:49:00 AM)

    Dear sara, your poems touch my heart again and again.

Best Poem of Sara Teasdale

Advice To A Girl

No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.

Read the full of Advice To A Girl

Broadway

This is the quiet hour; the theaters
Have gathered in their crowds, and steadily
The million lights blaze on for few to see,
Robbing the sky of stars that should be hers.
A woman waits with bag and shabby furs,
A somber man drifts by, and only we
Pass up the street unwearied, warm and free,
For over us the olden magic stirs.

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