Showing posts with label Sara Teasdale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sara Teasdale. Show all posts

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Stars (Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933)

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.
From: Flame and Shadow (1920)

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Classic Poetry: "There Will Come Soft Rains," Sara Teasdale, 1884-1933

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Sara Teasdale
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There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

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Terrible Beauty



glendale92
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And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

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.
--1920



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"August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains" (Based on Ray Bradbury's short story, which includes Teasdale's poem)



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