Sara Teasdale

LEAVES

One by one, like leaves from a tree,

All my faiths have forsaken me;

But the stars above my head

Burn in white and delicate red,

And beneath my feet the earth

Brings the sturdy grass to birth.

I who was content to be

But a silken-singing tree,

But a rustle of delight

In the wistful heart of night,

I have lost the leaves that knew

Touch of rain and weight of dew.

Blinded by a leafy crown

I looked neither up nor down—

But the little leaves that die

Have left me room to see the sky;

Now for the first time I know

Stars above and earth below.

MORNING

I went out on an April morning

All alone, for my heart was high.

I was a child of the shining meadow,

I was a sister of the sky.

335There in the windy flood of morning

Longing lifted its weight from me,

Lost as a sob in the midst of cheering,

Swept as a sea-bird out to sea.

THE FLIGHT

Look back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,

Lift me up in your love as a light wing lifts a swallow,

Let our flight be far in sun or windy rain—

But what if I heard my first love calling me again?

Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam,

Take me far away to the hills that hide your home;

Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door—

But what if I heard my first love calling me once more?

OVER THE ROOFS

I said, “I have shut my heart,

As one shuts an open door,

That Love may starve therein

And trouble me no more.”

But over the roofs there came

The wet new wind of May,

And a tune blew up from the curb

Where the street-pianos play.

My room was white with the sun

And Love cried out in me,

“I am strong, I will break your heart

Unless you set me free.”

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DEBT

What do I owe to you

Who loved me deep and long?

You never gave my spirits wings

Nor gave my heart a song.

But oh, to him I loved,

Who loved me not at all,

I owe the little gate

That led through heaven’s wall.

SONGS IN A HOSPITAL

THE BROKEN FIELD

My soul is a dark ploughed field

In the cold rain;

My soul is a broken field

Ploughed by pain.

Where windy grass and flowers

Were growing,

The field lies broken now

For another sowing.

Great Sower, when you tread

My field again,

Scatter the furrows there

With better grain.

OPEN WINDOWS

Out of the window a sea of green trees

Lift their soft boughs like arms of a dancer;

They beckon and call me, “Come out in the sun!”

But I cannot answer.

337I 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.

AFTER DEATH

Now while my lips are living

Their words must stay unsaid,

And will my soul remember

To speak when I am dead?

Yet if my soul remembered

You would not heed it, dear,

For now you must not listen,

And then you could not hear.

IN MEMORIAM F. O. S.

You go a long and lovely journey,

For all the stars, like burning dew,

Are luminous and luring footprints

Of souls adventurous as you.

338Oh, if you lived on earth elated,

How is it now that you can run

Free of the weight of flesh and faring

Far past the birthplace of the sun?

SWALLOW FLIGHT

I love my hour of wind and light,

I love men’s faces and their eyes,

I love my spirit’s veering flight

Like swallows under evening skies.

THE ANSWER

When I go back to earth

And all my joyous body

Puts off the red and white

That once had been so proud,

If men should pass above

With false and feeble pity,

My dust will find a voice

To answer them aloud:

“Be still, I am content,

Take back your poor compassion!—

Joy was a flame in me

Too steady to destroy.

Lithe as a bending reed

Loving the storm that sways her—

I found more joy in sorrow

Than you could find in joy.”

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