Sara Teasdale Poems

What do I owe to you
Who loved me deep and long?
You never gave my spirit wings
Or gave my heart a song.
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I shall gather myself into myself again,
I shall take my scattered selves and make them one,
Fusing them into a polished crystal ball
Where I can see the moon and the flashing sun.
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It is enough for me by day
To walk the same bright earth with him;
Enough that over us by night
The same great roof of stars is dim.
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So soon my body will have gone
Beyond the sound and sight of men,
And tho' it wakes and suffers now,
Its sleep will be unbroken then;
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I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
The fragile secret of a flower,
Music, the making of a poem
That gave me heaven for an hour;
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Less than the cloud to the wind,
Less than the foam to the sea,
Less than the rose to the storm,
Am I to thee.
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I am the still rain falling,
Too tired for singing mirth--
Oh, be the green fields calling,
Oh, be for me the earth!
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Fairy snow, fairy snow,
Blowing, blowing everywhere,
Would that I
Too, could fly
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I am not sorry for my soul
That it must go unsatisfied,
For it can live a thousand times,
Eternity is deep and wide.
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My soul lives in my body's house,
And you have both the house and her—
But sometimes she is less your own
Than a wild, gay adventurer;
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