Some poetry by Sara Teasdale

I stumbled across Sara Teasdale's poetry when I was writing Falling for You. I needed a poet that Ella, the elderly woman Rae meets and befriends, admired, and it had to be one that had work in the public domain, so we wouldn't have to deal with permissions and all of that messy stuff, because I wanted to put pieces of a couple of poems in my book. What a gem I discovered.

Sara Teasdale's poetry is so lovely. Although many of her poems can be found on the internet, I ended up buying myself a book of her poetry, FLAME AND SHADOW, published in 1928. It is in really good condition, considering it's over eighty years old, and I now consider it one of my greatest treasures. I simply adore this book.

I think everyone should have at least one poetry book they love on their shelves. There is something so comforting, to me at least, about reading poetry. This morning, I've been feeling anxious about some things. But I went to my shelf, picked up this book, and started reading. And her words just washed it all away. She writes of pain, of death, of joy, of love. It's all there, and suddenly, I have a friend who understands whatever I'm feeling at the moment. What a gift.

MEADOWLARKS

In the silver light after a storm,

Under dripping boughs of bright new green,

I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks

Alone and high-hearted as if I were queen.

What have I to fear in life or death

Who have known three things: the kiss in the night,

The white flying joy when a song is born,

And meadowlarks whistling in silver light.

EIGHT O'CLOCK

Supper comes at five o'clock,

At six, the evening star,

My lover comes at eight o'clock --

But eight o'clock is far.

How could I bear my pain all day

Unless I watched to see

The clock-hands laboring to bring

Eight o'clock to me.

THE NEW MOON

Day, you have bruised and beaten me,

As rain beats down and the bright, proud sea,

Beaten my body, bruised my soul,

Left me nothing lovely or whole --

Yet I have wrested a gift from you,

Day that dies in dusky blue:

For suddenly over the factories

I saw a moon in the cloudy seas --

A wisp of beauty all alone

In a world as hard and gray as stone --

Oh who could be bitter and want to die

When a maiden moon wakes up in the sky?

THE COIN

Into my heart's treasury

I slipped a coin

That time cannot take

Nor a thief purloin, --

Oh better than the minting

Of a gold-crowned king

Is the safe-kept memory

of a lovely thing.