Test
Download document

TEASDALE, Sara


There will come soft rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;


And frogs in the pools, singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white,


Robins will wear their feathery fire,

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;


And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.


Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,

If mankind perished utterly;


And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,

Would scarcely know that we were gone.


After Love


There is no magic any more,

We meet as other people do,

You work no miracle for me

Nor I for you.


You were the wind and I the sea --

There is no splendor any more,

I have grown listless as the pool

Beside the shore.


But though the pool is safe from storm

And from the tide has found surcease,

It grows more bitter than the sea,

For all its peace.


April


The roofs are shining from the rain.

The sparrows tritter as they fly,

And with a windy April grace

The little clouds go by.


Yet the back-yards are bare and brown

With only one unchanging tree--

I could not be so sure of Spring

Save that it sings in me.


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?


Gray Fog

A fog drifts in, the heavy laden

Cold white ghost of the sea—

One by one the hills go out,

The road and the pepper-tree.

I watch the fog float in at the window

With the whole world gone blind,

Everything, even my longing, drowses,

Even the thoughts in my mind.

I put my head on my hands before me,

There is nothing left to be done or said,

There is nothing to hope for, I am tired,

And heavy as the dead.