All through the deep blue night The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart of the satyr carved in stone. The fountain sang and sang But the satyr never stirred- Only the great white moon In the empty heaven heard.
Sara TeasdaleA hush is over everything, Silent as women wait for love; The world is waiting for the spring.
Sara TeasdaleThe poet should try to give his poem the quiet swiftness of flame, so that the reader will feel and not think while he is reading. But the thinking will come afterwards.
Sara TeasdaleI shall not let a sorrow die Until I find the heart of it, Nor let a wordless joy go by Until it talks to me a bit.
Sara TeasdaleFrom my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free. For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality.
Sara Teasdale