Flame and Shadow

A collection of poetry by American poet Sara Teasdale. Her lyrical poems of love, nature's beauty, and death were much loved during the early nineteenth century.


By : Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)

01 - Chapter 1



02 - Chapter 2



03 - Chapter 3



04 - Chapter 4



05 - Chapter 5



06 - Chapter 6



07 - Chapter 7



08 - Chapter 8



09 - Chapter 9



10 - Chapter 10



11 - Chapter 11



12 - Chapter 12


Blue Squills

  How many million Aprils came
   Before I ever knew
  How white a cherry bough could be,
   A bed of squills, how blue!
  And many a dancing April
   When life is done with me,
  Will lift the blue flame of the flower
   And the white flame of the tree.
  Oh burn me with your beauty, then,
   Oh hurt me, tree and flower,
  Lest in the end death try to take
   Even this glistening hour.
  O shaken flowers, O shimmering trees,
   O sunlit white and blue,
  Wound me, that I, through endless sleep,
   May bear the scar of you.

Stars

  Alone in the night
   On a dark hill
  With pines around me
   Spicy and still,
  And a heaven full of stars
   Over my head,
  White and topaz
   And misty red;
  Myriads with beating
   Hearts of fire
  That aeons
   Cannot vex or tire;
  Up the dome of heaven
   Like a great hill,
  I watch them marching
   Stately and still,
  And I know that I
   Am honored to be
  Witness
   Of so much majesty.

"What Do I Care?"

  What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring,
   That my songs do not show me at all?
  For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a fire,
   I am an answer, they are only a call.
  But what do I care, for love will be over so soon,
   Let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by,
  For my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent,
   It is my heart that makes my songs, not I.

Meadowlarks

  In the silver light after a storm,
   Under dripping boughs of bright new green,
  I take the low path to hear the meadowlarks
   Alone and high-hearted as if I were a queen.
  What have I to fear in life or death
   Who have known three things: the kiss in the night,
  The white flying joy when a song is born,
   And meadowlarks whistling in silver light.

Driftwood

  My forefathers gave me
   My spirit's shaken flame,
  The shape of hands, the beat of heart,
   The letters of my name.
  But it was my lovers,
   And not my sleeping sires,
  Who gave the flame its changeful
   And iridescent fires;
  As the driftwood burning
   Learned its jewelled blaze
  From the sea's blue splendor
   Of colored nights and days.
"I Have Loved Hours at Sea"

  I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
   The fragile secret of a flower,
  Music, the making of a poem
   That gave me heaven for an hour;
  First stars above a snowy hill,
   Voices of people kindly and wise,
  And the great look of love, long hidden,
   Found at last in meeting eyes.
  I have loved much and been loved deeply—
   Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,
  Leave me the darkness and the stillness,
   I shall be tired and glad to go.

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