Poems List

Spring Torrents

Spring Torrents
Will it always be like this until I am dead,
Every spring must I bear it all again
With the first red haze of the budding maple boughs,
And the first sweet-smelling rain?
Oh I am like a rock in the rising river
Where the flooded water breaks with a low call --
Like a rock that knows the cry of the waters
And cannot answer at all.
390

Spring Night

Spring Night
The park is filled with night and fog,
The veils are drawn about the world,
The drowsy lights along the paths
Are dim and pearled.
Gold and gleaming the empty streets,
Gold and gleaming the misty lake,
The mirrored lights like sunken swords,
Glimmer and shake.
Oh, is it not enough to be
Here with this beauty over me?
My throat should ache with praise, and I
Should kneel in joy beneath the sky.
O, beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love,
With youth, a singing voice, and eyes
To take earth's wonder with surprise?
Why have I put off my pride,
Why am I unsatisfied, --
I, for whom the pensive night
Binds her cloudy hair with light, --
I, for whom all beauty burns
Like incense in a million urns?
O beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love?
461

Song Making

Song Making
My heart cried like a beaten child
Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
And thread them into a song.
One was a cry at black midnight
And one when the first cock crew --
My heart was like a beaten child,
But no one ever knew.
Life, you have put me in your debt
And I must serve you long --
But oh, the debt is terrible
That must be paid in song.
423

September Midnights

September Midnights
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, borken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.
332

Snowfall

Snowfall
"She can't be unhappy," you said,
"The smiles are like stars in her eyes,
And her laugh is thistledown
Around her low replies."
"Is she unhappy?" you said --
But who has ever known
Another's heartbreak --
All he can know is his own;
And she seems hushed to me,
As hushed as though
Her heart were a hunter's fire
Smothered in snow.
481

Places

Places
Places I love come back to me like music,
Hush me and heal me when I am very tired;
I see the oak woods at Saxton's flaming
In a flare of crimson by the frost newly fired;
And I am thirsty for the spring in the valley
As for a kiss ungiven and long desired.
I know a bright world of snowy hills at Boonton,
A blue and white dazzling light on everything one sees,
The ice-covered branches of the hemlocks sparkle
Bending low and tinkling in the sharp thin breeze,
And iridescent crystals fall and crackle on the snow-crust
With the winter sun drawing cold blue shadows from the trees.
Violet now, in veil on veil of evening
The hills across from Cromwell grow dreamy and far;
A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol
In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are;
The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers
And heaven is lighting star after star.
Places I love come back to me like music --
Mid-ocean, midnight, the waves buzz drowsily;
In the ship's deep churning the eerie phosphorescence
Is like the souls of people who were drowned at sea,
And I can hear a man's voice, speaking, hushed, insistent,
At midnight, in mid-ocean, hour on hour to me.
450

Redbirds

Redbirds
Redbirds, redbirds,
Long and long ago,
What a honey-call you had
In hills I used to know;
Redbud, buckberry,
Wild plum-tree
And proud river sweeping
Southward to the sea,
Brown and gold in the sun
Sparkling far below,
Trailing stately round her bluffs
Where the poplars grow --
Redbirds, redbirds,
Are you singing still
As you sang one May day
On Saxton's Hill?
400

Pierrot

Pierrot
Pierrot stands in the garden
Beneath a waning moon,
And on his lute he fashions
A fragile silver tune.
Pierrot plays in the garden,
He thinks he plays for me,
But I am quite forgotten
Under the cherry tree.
Pierrot plays in the garden,
And all the roses know
That Pierrot loves his music, --
But I love Pierrot.
430

Pain

Pain
Waves are the sea's white daughters,
And raindrops the children of rain,
But why for my shimmering body
Have I a mother like Pain?
Night is the mother of stars,
And wind the mother of foam --
The world is brimming with beauty,
But I must stay at home.
451

Open Windows

Open Windows
Out of the window a sea of green trees
Lift their soft boughs like the arms of a dancer,
They beckon and call me, "Come out in the sun!"
But I cannot answer.
I am alone with Weakness and Pain,
Sick abed and June is going,
I cannot keep her, she hurries by
With the silver-green of her garments blowing.
Men and women pass in the street
Glad of the shining sapphire weather,
But we know more of it than they,
Pain and I together.
They are the runners in the sun,
Breathless and blinded by the race,
But we are watchers in the shade
Who speak with Wonder face to face.
467

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Identification and basic context

Sara Teasdale was an American lyric poet. She was born Sara Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri. She later married and became known as Sara Teasdale Filsinger. Her family background was rooted in the American Midwest, with her father being a successful businessman. She was of English and Scottish descent. She was an American national and wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Teasdale grew up in a comfortable middle-class home in St. Louis. She was a delicate child and suffered from various ailments, which led to her being educated primarily at home. She received instruction from tutors and pursued extensive self-study, developing a deep love for literature and poetry. Her early readings included the works of Keats, Shelley, Tennyson, and Christina Rossetti. She was also influenced by the natural world, spending much time outdoors.

Literary trajectory

Teasdale began writing poetry at a young age, with her first published poem appearing in 'Reedy's Mirror' in 1907. Her first collection, 'Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems', was published in 1907. She gained wider recognition with 'Rivers to the Sea' (1915), which became a bestseller. Her subsequent collections, including 'Love Songs' (1917), 'Flame and Shadow' (1920), and 'Dark of the Moon' (1926), further solidified her reputation as a leading American poet. She was an active participant in the literary circles of her time.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Teasdale's major works include 'Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems' (1907), 'The Anemone' (1911), 'Rivers to the Sea' (1915), 'Love Songs' (1917), 'Flame and Shadow' (1920), 'Helen of Troy and Other Poems' (1922), and 'Dark of the Moon' (1926). Her dominant themes revolve around love, loss, nature, the passage of time, and the introspective experiences of women. Her style is characterized by its lyrical beauty, musicality, clarity, and emotional directness. She frequently employed traditional forms like the sonnet but also wrote in free verse. Her poetic voice is often tender, reflective, and deeply personal, conveying a sense of quiet strength and vulnerability. Her language is precise and evocative, with a focus on imagery drawn from nature.

Cultural and historical context

Teasdale was active during the early 20th century, a period of significant change in American society and literature. She was associated with the Imagist movement, though her style was more consistently lyrical and romantic than strictly Imagist. She was a contemporary of poets like Amy Lowell, H.D., and Edna St. Vincent Millay. Her work reflected the broader cultural interest in introspection and the personal lives of women that was emerging during this era.

Personal life

Teasdale's personal life was marked by periods of intense joy and profound sorrow. Her marriage to Ernest B. Filsinger, an executive, was initially happy but later became strained, contributing to themes of loneliness and heartbreak in her poetry. She struggled with health issues throughout her life. Her deep connection to nature and her contemplative nature informed her creative process.

Recognition and reception

Teasdale achieved considerable popularity and critical acclaim during her lifetime. 'Rivers to the Sea' was a bestseller, and her poems were widely published in popular magazines. She was the recipient of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1918 for her collection 'Love Songs'. Her accessible style and relatable themes made her a beloved figure among readers, though some critics sometimes viewed her work as overly sentimental.

Influences and legacy

Teasdale was influenced by earlier Romantic poets and by the Imagist movement. Her lyrical style and focus on emotion influenced subsequent generations of poets, particularly women poets. Her exploration of feminine experience and her accessible yet profound verse have ensured her enduring place in American poetry. Her work continues to be studied for its emotional depth and skillful use of language.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Teasdale's poetry is often interpreted through the lens of feminist literary criticism, examining her portrayal of women's experiences, desires, and emotional lives. Her themes of love and loss are explored with a nuanced understanding of human relationships. Critics have noted the delicate balance she strikes between personal confession and universal sentiment.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Teasdale was known for her beauty and was once considered a potential film actress. She was a close friend of Vachel Lindsay, another prominent poet, though their relationship was complex. She was also an avid gardener, and her deep connection to nature was a significant source of inspiration.

Death and memory

Sara Teasdale died by suicide in 1933, a tragic end to a life marked by both poetic brilliance and personal struggle. Her collected poems have been published posthumously, ensuring her legacy and continued appreciation by readers and scholars.