Sara Teasdale

I came across this book of poetry by Sara Teasdale, when I was sorting through my book case, I`d forgotton I`d got it, its inscribed inside, which I think is lovely, it gives it a sense of history,

I wonder who they were, and what they done with their lives. The poetry in the book is beautiful, its such a shame that she had such a tragic life. I thought I`d share some poems.

A diamond of a morning
Waked me an hour too soon;
Dawn had taken in the stars
And left the faint white moon.

O white moon, you are lonely,
It is the same with me,
But we have the world to roam over,
Only the lonely are free.

Day, you have bruised and beaten me,
As rain beats down 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 wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.

Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.