192 Quotes by Sara Teasdale

I am alone, as though I stood On the highest peak of the tired gray world,About me only swirling snow, Above me, endless space unfurled;With earth hidden and heaven hidden, And only my own spirit's prideTo keep me from the peace of those Who are not lonely, having died.

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

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

The greenish sky glows up in misty reds, The purple shadows turn to brick and stone,The dreams wear thin, men turn upon their beds, And hear the milk-cart jangle by alone.

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

Old love, old love, / How can I be true? / Shall I be faithless to myself / Or to you?

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too, The world's heart breaks beneath its wars,All things are changed, save in the east,The faithful beauty of the stars.

Spend all you have for loveliness.

Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.