Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdalewas an American lyric poet. She was born Sarah Trevor Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri, and used the name Sara Teasdale Filsinger after her marriage in 1914...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth8 August 1884
CitySt. Louis, MO
CountryUnited States of America
half life
There's nothing half so real in life as the things you've done...inexorably, unalterably done.
american-author orator
Then, like an old-time orator impressively he rose; I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes.
frail life moth web
Life is a frail moth flyingCaught in the web of the years that pass.
spring moving heart
The spring is fresh and fearless And every leaf is new, The world is brimmed with moonlight, The lilac brimmed with dew. Here in the moving shadows I catch my breath and sing - My heart is fresh and fearless And over-brimmed with spring.
spring waiting world
A hush is over everything, Silent as women wait for love; The world is waiting for the spring.
heartbroken gratitude humor
I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes.
spring bird tree
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.
pain broken soul
My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain.
sadness joy sorrow
I found more joy in sorrow than you could find in joy.
love pain heart
There is a quiet at the heart of love, And I have pierced the pain and come to peace.
life beautiful nature
Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children's faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.
pain rain dark
My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain.
suicide rain suicidal
I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful when rain bends down the bough; And I shall be more silent and cold hearted than you are now.
stars sunset sky
I am the pool of gold When sunset burns and dies-- You are my deepening skies; Give me your stars to hold