192 Quotes by Sara Teasdale

In Warsaw in PolandHalf the world away,The one I love best of allThought of me to-day;I know, for I wentWinged as a bird,In the wide flowing windHis own voice I heard;His arms were round meIn a ferny place,I looked in the poolAnd there was his face–But now it is nightAnd the cold stars say:'Warsaw in PolandIs half the world away.

Now at last I have come to see what life is,Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun,And the brave victories that seem so splendidAre never really won.Even love that I built my spirit's house for,Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest,And music and men's praise and even laughterAre not so good as rest.

At MidnightNow at last I have come to see what life is,Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun,And the brave victories that seem so splendidAre never really won.Even love that I built my spirit's house for,Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest,And music and men's praise and even laughterAre not so good as rest.

Down the hill I went, and then,I forgot the ways of men,For night-scents, heady and damp and coolWakened ecstasy

The UnchangingSun-swept beaches with a light wind blowingFrom the immense blue circle of the sea,And the soft thunder where long waves whiten—These were the same for Sappho as for me.Two thousand years—much has gone by forever,Change takes the gods and ships and speech of men—But here on the beaches that time passes overThe heart aches now as then.

It was a night of early spring,The winter-sleep was scarcely broken;Around us shadows and the windListened for what was never spoken.Though half a score of years are gone,Spring comes as sharply now as then—But if we had it all to doIt would be done the same again.It was a spring that never came;But we have lived enough to knowThat what we never have, remains;It is the things we have that go.

Only in sleep I see their faces,Children I played with when I was a child,Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,Annie with ringlets warm and wild.Only in sleep Time is forgotten–What may have come to them, who can know?Yet we played last night as long ago,And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.The years had not sharpened their smooth around faces, I met their eyes and found them mild–Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,And for them am I, too, a child?

You bound strong sandals on my feet,You gave me bread and wine,And sent me under sun and stars,For all the world was mine.Oh, take the sandals off my feet,You know not what you do;For all the world is in your arms,My sun and stars are you.

In my heart's most secret place,I pity them as angels do.