Sara Teasdale Quotes

The window-lights, myriads and myriads, Bloom from the walls like climbing flowers.

Oh Earth, you gave me all I have, I love you, I love you, — oh what have I That I can give you in return — Except my body after I die?

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly;<p>And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn, Would scarcely know that we were gone.

O lovely chance, what can I do To give my gratefulness to you? You rise between myself and me With a wise persistency; I would have broken body and soul, But by your grace, still I am whole.

It will not hurt me when I am old, A running tide where moonlight burned Will not sting me like silver snakes; The years will make me sad and cold, It is the happy heart that breaks.

But you I never understood, Your spirit's secret hides like gold Sunk in a Spanish galleon Ages ago in waters cold.

I should be glad of loneliness And hours that go on broken wings, A thirsty body, a tired heart And the unchanging ache of things, If I could make a single song As lovely and as full of light, As hushed and brief as a falling star On a winter night.

I try to catch at many a tune Like petals of light fallen from the moon, Broken and bright on a dark lagoon,<p>But they float away — for who can hold Youth, or perfume or the moon's gold?

If I can find out God, then I shall find Him, If none can find Him, then I shall sleep soundly, Knowing how well on earth your love sufficed me, A lamp in darkness.

But I will turn my eyes from you As women turn to put away The jewels they have worn at night And cannot wear in sober day.

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.

I have grown weary of the winds of heaven. I will not be a reed to hold the sound Of whatsoever breath the gods may blow, Turning my torment into music for them. They gave me life; the gift was bountiful, I lived with the swift singing strength of fire, Seeking for beauty as a flame for fuel — Beauty in all things and in every hour. The gods have given life — I gave them song; The debt is paid and now I turn to go.

How should they know that Sappho lived and died Faithful to love, not faithful to the lover, Never transfused and lost in what she loved, Never so wholly loving nor at peace.

But oh, to him I loved Who loved me not at all, I owe the little open gate That led thru heaven's wall.

I lift my heart as spring lifts up A yellow daisy to the rain; My heart will be a lovely cup Altho' it holds but pain. For I shall learn from flower and leaf That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief To living gold.