VIII "There Will Come Soft Rains" (War Time) 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; 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. In a Garden The world is resting without sound or motion, Behind the apple tree the sun goes down Painting with fire the spires and the windows In the elm-shaded town. Beyond the calm Connecticut the hills lie Silvered with haze as fruits still fresh with bloom, The swallows weave in flight across the zenith On an aerial loom. Into the garden peace comes back with twilight, Peace that since noon had left the purple phlox, The heavy-headed asters, the late roses And swaying hollyhocks. For at high-noon I heard from this same garden The far-off murmur as when many come; Up from the village surged the blind and beating Red music of a drum; And the hysterical sharp fife that shattered The brittle autumn air, While they came, the young men marching Past the village square. . . . Across the calm Connecticut the hills change To violet, the veils of dusk are deep— Earth takes her children's many sorrows calmly And stills herself to sleep. Nahant Bowed as an elm under the weight of its beauty, So earth is bowed, under her weight of splendor, Molten sea, richness of leaves and the burnished Bronze of sea-grasses. Clefts in the cliff shelter the purple sand-peas And chicory flowers bluer than the ocean Flinging its foam high, white fire in sunshine, Jewels of water. Joyous thunder of blown waves on the ledges, Make me forget war and the dark war-sorrow— Against the sky a sentry paces the sea-cliff Slim in his khaki. Winter Stars I went out at night alone; The young blood flowing beyond the sea Seemed to have drenched my spirit's wings— I bore my sorrow heavily. But when I lifted up my head From shadows shaken on the snow, I saw Orion in the east Burn steadily as long ago. From windows in my father's house, Dreaming my dreams on winter nights, I watched Orion as a girl Above another city's lights. 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. A Boy Out of the noise of tired people working, Harried with thoughts of war and lists of dead, His beauty met me like a fresh wind blowing, Clean boyish beauty and high-held head. Eyes that told secrets, lips that would not tell them, Fearless and shy the young unwearied eyes— Men die by millions now, because God blunders, Yet to have made this boy he must be wise. Winter Dusk I watch the great clear twilight Veiling the ice-bowed trees; Their branches tinkle faintly With crystal melodies. The larches bend their silver Over the hush of snow; One star is lighted in the west, Two in the zenith glow. For a moment I have forgotten Wars and women who mourn— I think of the mother who bore me And thank her that I was born. By the Sea IX The Unchanging Sun-swept beaches with a light wind blowing From 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 over The heart aches now as then. June Night Oh Earth, you are too dear to-night, How can I sleep while all around Floats rainy fragrance and the far Deep voice of the ocean that talks to the ground? 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? "Like Barley Bending" Like barley bending In low fields by the sea, Singing in hard wind Ceaselessly; Like barley bending And rising again, So would I, unbroken, Rise from pain; So would I softly, Day long, night long, Change my sorrow Into song. "Oh Day of Fire and Sun" Oh day of fire and sun, Pure as a naked flame, Blue sea, blue sky and dun Sands where he spoke my name; Laughter and hearts so high That the spirit flew off free, Lifting into the sky Diving into the sea; Oh day of fire and sun Like a crystal burning, Slow days go one by one, But you have no returning. "I Thought of You" I thought of you and how you love this beauty, And walking up the long beach all alone I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder As you and I once heard their monotone. Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me The cold and sparkling silver of the sea— We two will pass through death and ages lengthen Before you hear that sound again with me. On the Dunes If there is any life when death is over, These tawny beaches will know much of me, I shall come back, as constant and as changeful As the unchanging, many-colored sea. If life was small, if it has made me scornful, Forgive me; I shall straighten like a flame In the great calm of death, and if you want me Stand on the sea-ward dunes and call my name. Spray I knew you thought of me all night, I knew, though you were far away; I felt your love blow over me As if a dark wind-riven sea Drenched me with quivering spray. There are so many ways to love And each way has its own delight— Then be content to come to me Only as spray the beating sea Drives inland through the night. If Death Is Kind Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning, We will come back to earth some fragrant night, And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white. We will come down at night to these resounding beaches And the long gentle thunder of the sea, Here for a single hour in the wide starlight We shall be happy, for the dead are free. X Thoughts When I am all alone Envy me most, Then my thoughts flutter round me In a glimmering host; Some dressed in silver, Some dressed in white, Each like a taper Blossoming light; Most of them merry, Some of them grave, Each of them lithe As willows that wave; Some bearing violets, Some bearing bay, One with a burning rose Hidden away— When I am all alone Envy me then, For I have better friends Than women and men. Faces People that I meet and pass In the city's broken roar, Faces that I lose so soon And have never found before, Do you know how much you tell In the meeting of our eyes, How ashamed I am, and sad To have pierced your poor disguise? Secrets rushing without sound Crying from your hiding places— Let me go, I cannot bear The sorrow of the passing faces. —People in the restless street, Can it be, oh can it be In the meeting of our eyes That you know as much of me? Evening: New York Blue dust of evening over my city, Over the ocean of roofs and the tall towers Where the window-lights, myriads and myriads, Bloom from the walls like climbing flowers. Snowfall "She can't be unhappy," you said, "The smiles are like stars in her eyes, And her laugh is thistledown Around her low replies." "Is she unhappy?" you said— But who has ever known Another's heartbreak— All he can know is his own; And she seems hushed to me, As hushed as though Her heart were a hunter's fire Smothered in snow. The Silent Battle (In Memory of J. W. T. Jr.) He was a soldier in that fight Where there is neither flag nor drum, And without sound of musketry The stealthy foemen come. Year in, year out, by day and night They forced him to a slow retreat, And for his gallant fight alone No fife was blown, and no drum beat. In winter fog, in gathering mist The gray grim battle had its end— And at the very last we knew His enemy had turned his friend. The Sanctuary If I could keep my innermost Me Fearless, aloof and free Of the least breath of love or hate, And not disconsolate At the sick load of sorrow laid on men; If I could keep a sanctuary there Free even of prayer, If I could do this, then, With quiet candor as I grew more wise I could look even at God with grave forgiving eyes. At Sea In the pull of the wind I stand, lonely, On the deck of a ship, rising, falling, Wild night around me, wild water under me, Whipped by the storm, screaming and calling. Earth is hostile and the sea hostile, Why do I look for a place to rest? I must fight always and die fighting With fear an unhealing wound in my breast. Dust When I went to look at what had long been hidden, A jewel laid long ago in a secret place, I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire— But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face. I almost gave my life long ago for a thing That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes— It is strange how often a heart must be broken Before the years can make it wise. The Long Hill I must have passed the crest a while ago And now I am going down— Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know, But the brambles were always catching the hem of my gown. All the morning I thought how proud I should be To stand there straight as a queen, Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me— But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen. It was nearly level along the beaten track And the brambles caught in my gown— But it's no use now to think of turning back, The rest of the way will be only going down. XI Summer Storm The panther wind Leaps out of the night, The snake of lightning Is twisting and white, The lion of thunder Roars—and we Sit still and content Under a tree— We have met fate together And love and pain, Why should we fear The wrath of the rain! In the End All that could never be said, All that could never be done, Wait for us at last Somewhere back of the sun; All the heart broke to forego Shall be ours without pain, We shall take them as lightly as girls Pluck flowers after rain. And when they are ours in the end Perhaps after all The skies will not open for us Nor heaven be there at our call. "It Will Not Change" It will not change now After so many years; Life has not broken it With parting or tears; Death will not alter it, It will live on In all my songs for you When I am gone. Change Remember me as I was then; Turn from me now, but always see The laughing shadowy girl who stood At midnight by the flowering tree, With eyes that love had made as bright As the trembling stars of the summer night. Turn from me now, but always hear The muted laughter in the dew Of that one year of youth we had, The only youth we ever knew— Turn from me now, or you will see What other years have done to me. Water Lilies If you have forgotten water lilies floating On a dark lake among mountains in the afternoon shade, If you have forgotten their wet, sleepy fragrance, Then you can return and not be afraid. But if you remember, then turn away forever To the plains and the prairies where pools are far apart, There you will not come at dusk on closing water lilies, And the shadow of mountains will not fall on your heart. "Did You Never Know?" Did you never know, long ago, how much you loved me— That your love would never lessen and never go? You were young then, proud and fresh-hearted, You were too young to know. Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly before it Far apart, far away in the gusty time of year— Seldom we meet now, but when I hear you speaking, I know your secret, my dear, my dear. The Treasure When they see my songs They will sigh and say, "Poor soul, wistful soul, Lonely night and day." They will never know All your love for me Surer than the spring, Stronger than the sea; Hidden out of sight Like a miser's gold In forsaken fields Where the wind is cold. The Storm I thought of you when I was wakened By a wind that made me glad and afraid Of the rushing, pouring sound of the sea That the great trees made. One thought in my mind went over and over While the darkness shook and the leaves were thinned— I thought it was you who had come to find me, You were the wind. Songs For Myself XII The Tree Oh to be free of myself, With nothing left to remember, To have my heart as bare As a tree in December; Resting, as a tree rests After its leaves are gone, Waiting no more for a rain at night Nor for the red at dawn; But still, oh so still While the winds come and go, With no more fear of the hard frost Or the bright burden of snow; And heedless, heedless If anyone pass and see On the white page of the sky Its thin black tracery. At Midnight 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 splendid Are 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 laughter Are not so good as rest. Song Making My heart cried like a beaten child Ceaselessly all night long; I had to take my own cries And thread them into a song. One was a cry at black midnight And one when the first cock crew— My heart was like a beaten child, But no one ever knew. Life, you have put me in your debt And I must serve you long— But oh, the debt is terrible That must be paid in song. Alone I am alone, in spite of love, In spite of all I take and give— In spite of all your tenderness, Sometimes I am not glad to live. 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. Red Maples In the last year I have learned How few men are worth my trust; I have seen the friend I loved Struck by death into the dust, And fears I never knew before Have knocked and knocked upon my door— "I shall hope little and ask for less," I said, "There is no happiness." I have grown wise at last—but how Can I hide the gleam on the willow-bough, Or keep the fragrance out of the rain Now that April is here again? When maples stand in a haze of fire What can I say to the old desire, What shall I do with the joy in me That is born out of agony? Debtor So long as my spirit still Is glad of breath And lifts its plumes of pride In the dark face of death; While I am curious still Of love and fame, Keeping my heart too high For the years to tame, How can I quarrel with fate Since I can see I am a debtor to life, Not life to me? The Wind in the Hemlock Steely stars and moon of brass, How mockingly you watch me pass! You know as well as I how soon I shall be blind to stars and moon, Deaf to the wind in the hemlock tree, Dumb when the brown earth weighs on me. With envious dark rage I bear, Stars, your cold complacent stare; Heart-broken in my hate look up, Moon, at your clear immortal cup, Changing to gold from dusky red— Age after age when I am dead To be filled up with light, and then Emptied, to be refilled again. What has man done that only he Is slave to death—so brutally Beaten back into the earth Impatient for him since his birth? Oh let me shut my eyes, close out The sight of stars and earth and be Sheltered a minute by this tree. Hemlock, through your fragrant boughs There moves no anger and no doubt, No envy of immortal things. The night-wind murmurs of the sea With veiled music ceaselessly, That to my shaken spirit sings. From their frail nest the robins rouse, In your pungent darkness stirred, Twittering a low drowsy word— And me you shelter, even me. In your quietness you house The wind, the woman and the bird. You speak to me and I have heard: 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. [End of original text.] Biographical Note: Sara Teasdale (1884-1933): Teasdale was born in St. Louis, Missouri, where she attended a school that was founded by the grandfather of another great poet from St. Louis— T. S. Eliot. She later associated herself more with New York City. Her first book of poems was "Sonnets to Duse" (1907), but "Helen of Troy" (1911) was the true launch of her career, followed by "Rivers to the Sea" (1915), "Love Songs" (1917), "Flame and Shadow" (1920) and more. Her final volume, "Strange Victory", is considered by many to be predictive of her suicide in 1933. —— From an anthology of verse by Jessie B. Rittenhouse (1913, 1917): "Teasdale, Sara (Mrs. Ernst B. Filsinger). Born in St. Louis, Missouri, August 10, 1884. Educated at private schools. She is the author of "Sonnets to Duse", 1907; "Helen of Troy, and Other Poems", 1911; "Rivers to the Sea", 1915; "Love Songs", 1917. Editor of "The Answering Voice: A Hundred Love Lyrics by Women", 1917. Miss Teasdale is a lyric poet of an unusually pure and spontaneous gift." *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FLAME AND SHADOW *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. 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