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I have always loved Sara Teasdale. She has amazing poems. Here is one of my favorites.
To Dick on his Sixth Birthday by Sara Teasdale
Tho' I am very old and wise,
And you are neither wise nor old,
When I look far into your eyes,
I know things I was never told:
I know how flame must strain and fret
Prisoned in a mortal net;
How joy with over-eager wings,
Bruises the small heart where he sings;
How too much life, like too much gold,
Is sometimes very hard to hold. . . .
All that is talking—I know
This much is true, six years ago
An angel living near the moon
Walked through the sky and sang a tune
Plucking stars to make his crown—
And suddenly two stars fell down,
Two falling arrows made of light.
Six years ago this very night
I saw them fall and wondered why
The angel dropped them from the sky—
But when I saw your eyes I knew
The angel sent the stars to you.
My heart has grown rich with the passing of years,
I have less need now than when I was young
To share myself with every comer
Or shape my thoughts into words with my tongue.
It is one to me that they come or go
If I have myself and the drive of my will,
And strength to climb on a summer night
And watch the stars swarm over the hill.
Let them think I love them more than I do,
Let them think I care, though I go alone;
If it lifts their pride, what is it to me
Who am self-complete as a flower or a stone.
and:
While I May by Sara Teasdale
Wind and hail and veering rain,
Driven mist that veils the day,
Soul's distress and body's pain,
I would bear you while I may.
I would love you if I might,
For so soon my life will be
Buried in a lasting night,
Even pain denied to me.
Take a look at the poems of Emily Dickinson. It was not until her death in 1886 that her family found that she had spent her years (born 1830) creating magnificent poems (she never married, and lived with her family all her life, in virtual isolation, although she wrote letters and read the news).
"I took one Draught of Life—
I’ll tell you what I paid—
Precisely an existence—
The market price, they said.
They weighed me, Dust by Dust—
They balanced Film with Film,
Then handed me my Being’s worth—
A single Dram of Heaven!"
Most of her poems (some 1800) are short, but usually full of meaning. Imagine, as you read, this woman sitting in her bedroom looking out at the fields and sky with the birds and bees flying about, or reading the news of the Civil War. Indeed, read up on her history, such as it is, and her poems will become more meaningful.
Edited to add: note that she refers to 'film' in the poem, although photography was in its infancy when she wrote the poem. She was an voracious reader, and liked to keep up with developments. She had several poems, for instance, dealing with the railroad, also in its youth. While she isolated herself, her mind roamed the world.
Last edited by legalsea; 10-24-2014 at 09:40 AM..
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