Sara Teasdale: Wikis

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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933), was an American lyrical poet. She was born Sarah Trevor Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri.

Teasdale had poor health for most of her life, and it was only at age 9 that she was well enough to begin school. In 1898 she began attending Mary Institute, but switched rapidly to Hosmer Hall in 1899, where she finished in 1903.

Teasdale's first poem was appeared in Reedy's Mirror, a local newspaper, in 1907. Her first collection of poems, Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems, was published that same year. Teasdale's second collection of poems, Helen of Troy and Other Poems, was published in 1911. It was well received by critics, who praised its lyrical mastery and romantic subject matter.[1]

In 1913 Teasdale fell in love with the poet Vachel Lindsay. He wrote her daily love letters, but nevertheless she married Ernst Filsinger, a rich exporter, in 1914. Teasdale and Lindsay remained friends throughout their lives.

Teasdale's third poetry collection, Rivers to the Sea, was published in 1915. The collection received further critical praise.

In 1918, her poetry collection Love Songs won three awards: the Columbia University Poetry Society prize, the 1918 Pulitzer Prize for poetry and the annual prize of the Poetry Society of America. She was not happy in her marriage, divorcing Filsinger in 1929. In 1933, she committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills.[2] Her friend Vachel Lindsay had committed suicide two years earlier.

The poem "There Will Come Soft Rains" from her 1920 collection Flame and Shadow inspired and featured in a famous short story of the same name by Ray Bradbury.

In 1994, she was inducted into the St. Louis Walk of Fame.

She is interred in the Bellefontaine Cemetery in St. Louis.

Teasdale's suicide and "I Shall Not Care"

A common urban legend surrounds Teasdale's suicide. The legend claims that her poem "I Shall Not Care" (which features themes of abandonment, bitterness, and contemplation of death) was penned as a suicide note to a former lover. However, the poem was actually first published in her 1915 collection Rivers to the Sea, a full 18 years before her suicide.:[3]

External links

References

  1. ^ "Biography of Sara Teasdale - Lulu Poetry". http://www.poetry.com/greatest-poet/poet-bio/Sara%20Teasdale/.  
  2. ^ "Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)". http://www.poemhunter.com/sara-teasdale/biography/. Retrieved 22 April 2009.  
  3. ^ Teasdale, Sara (1915-2007). Rivers to the Sea. Montana: Kessinger Pub. Ltd.. ISBN 978-1417917457.  

Quotes

Up to date as of January 14, 2010

From Wikiquote

Till light turn darkness, and till time shall sleep,
Men's lives shall waste with longing after me,
For I shall be the sum of their desire,
The whole of beauty, never seen again.

Sara Teasdale (1884-08-081933-01-29) was an American poet.

Contents

Sourced

Helen of Troy and Other Poems (1911)

This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead...
  • This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead
    That sparkled so the day I saw it first,
    And darkened slowly after. I am she
    Who loves all beauty — yet I wither it.
  • My dreams are over, I have ceased to cry
    Against the fate that made men love my mouth
    And left their spirits all too deaf to hear
    The little songs that echoed through my soul.
    I have no anger now. The dreams are done;
    Yet since the Greeks and Trojans would not see
    Aught but my body's fairness, till the end,
    In all the islands set in all the seas,
    And all the lands that lie beneath the sun,
    Till light turn darkness, and till time shall sleep,
    Men's lives shall waste with longing after me,
    For I shall be the sum of their desire,
    The whole of beauty, never seen again.
That day we spoke a little, timidly,
And after that I never heard the voice
That sang so many songs for love of me.
  • And as I played, a child came thro' the gate,
    A boy who looked at me without a word,
    As tho' he saw stretch far behind my head
    Long lines of radiant angels, row on row.
    That day we spoke a little, timidly,
    And after that I never heard the voice
    That sang so many songs for love of me.
There is a quiet at the heart of love,
And I have pierced the pain and come to peace.
  • Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more
    To thee, God's daughter, powerful as God,
    It is that thou hast made my life too sweet
    To hold the added sweetness of a song.
    There is a quiet at the heart of love,
    And I have pierced the pain and come to peace.
  • We weep before the Blessed Mother's shrine,
    To think upon her sorrows, but her joys
    What nun could ever know a tithing of?
    The precious hours she watched above His sleep
    Were worth the fearful anguish of the end.
    Yea, lack of love is bitterest of all.
None will pity me, nor pity him
Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs.
  • All this grows bitter that was once so sweet,
    And many mouths must drain the dregs of it.
    But none will pity me, nor pity him
    Whom Love so lashed, and with such cruel thongs.
  • Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love —
    But you will not assuage him. He alone
    Of all the gods will take no gifts from men.
  • I may not speak till Eros' torch is dim,
    The god is bitter and will have it so.
  • I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,
    Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes.
  • Perhaps when all the world is bare
          And cruel winter holds the land,
    The Love that finds no place to hide
          Will run and catch my hand.

    I shall not care to have him then,
          I shall be bitter and a-cold —
    It grows too late for frolicking
          When all the world is old.

    Then little hiding Love, come forth,
          Come forth before the autumn goes,
    And let us seek thro' ruined paths
          The garden's last red rose.

His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.
  • For tho' I know he loves me,
          To-night my heart is sad;
    His kiss was not so wonderful
          As all the dreams I had.
  • With the man I love who loves me not
          I walked in the street-lamps' flare —
    But oh, the girls who can ask for love
          In the lights of Union Square.
  • There is no sign of leaf or bud,
          A hush is over everything —
    Silent as women wait for love,
          The world is waiting for the spring.
  • I hope that when he smiles at me
          He does not guess my joy and pain,
    For if he did, he is too kind
          To ever look my way again.
  • 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.

Rivers to the Sea (1915)

Oh, beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love?
  • Oh, is it not enough to be
    Here with this beauty over me?
    My throat should ache with praise, and I
    Should kneel in joy beneath the sky.
    Oh, beauty are you not enough?
  • Oh, beauty, are you not enough?
    Why am I crying after love?
  • I am the pool of gold
          When sunset burns and dies,—
          You are my deepening skies,
    Give me your stars to hold.
  • When I am dead and over me bright April
          Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
    Tho' you should lean above me broken-hearted,
          I shall not care.

    I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful
          When rain bends down the bough,
    And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
          Than you are now.

The gods have given life — I gave them song;
The debt is paid and now I turn to go.
  • But oh, to him I loved
          Who loved me not at all,
    I owe the little open gate
          That led thru heaven's wall.
  • 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.
  • 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.

Love Songs (1917)

  • 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.
  • Spend all you have for loveliness,
    Buy it and never count the cost;
    For one white singing hour of peace
    Count many a year of strife well lost,
    And for a breath of ecstasy
    Give all you have been, or could be.
  • 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.
  • 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.

Flame and Shadow (1920)

Who can hold youth, or perfume or the moon's gold?
  • I try to catch at many a tune
    Like petals of light fallen from the moon,
    Broken and bright on a dark lagoon,

    But they float away — for who can hold
    Youth, or perfume or the moon's gold?

  • 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.
  • But you I never understood,
          Your spirit's secret hides like gold
    Sunk in a Spanish galleon
          Ages ago in waters cold.
  • 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.
  • 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.
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 over
The heart aches now as then.
  • 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.

  • 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 over
    The heart aches now as then.
  • 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?
  • The window-lights, myriads and myriads,
    Bloom from the walls like climbing flowers.
If I am peaceful, I shall see
Beauty's face continually...
  • 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 pride
    To keep me from the peace of those
         Who are not lonely, having died.

  • If I am peaceful, I shall see
    Beauty's face continually;
    Feeding on her wine and bread
    I shall be wholly comforted,
    For she can make one day for me
    Rich as my lost eternity.

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