Fleurs du Mal Magazine
Or see the index
I Shall not Care
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.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
I Shall not Care
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
Spring Rain
I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.
I remembered a darkened doorway
Where we stood while the storm swept by,
Thunder gripping the earth
And lightning scrawled on the sky.
The passing motor busses swayed,
For the street was a river of rain,
Lashed into little golden waves
In the lamp light’s stain.
With the wild spring rain and thunder
My heart was wild and gay;
Your eyes said more to me that night
Than your lips would ever say….
I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
Spring Rain
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: 4SEASONS#Spring, Archive Q-R, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
Spring Night
The park is filled with night and fog,
The veils are drawn about the world,
The drowsy lights along the paths
Are dim and pearled.
Gold and gleaming the empty streets,
Gold and gleaming the misty lake,
The mirrored lights like sunken swords,
Glimmer and shake.
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.
O, beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love,
With youth, a singing voice, and eyes
To take earth’s wonder with surprise?
Why have I put off my pride,
Why am I unsatisfied,
I, for whom the pensive night
Binds her cloudy hair with light,
I, for whom all beauty burns
Like incense in a million urns?
O beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love?
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
Spring Night
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: 4SEASONS#Spring, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Natural history, Teasdale, Sara
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.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
The Storm
from: Flame and Shadow
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
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.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
At Midnight
from: Flame and Shadow
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
I Shall Not Care
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.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
I Shall Not Care
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
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.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
Evening: New York
from: Flame and Shadow
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
I Am Not Yours
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love—put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
I Am Not Yours
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
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.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
I Thought of You
from: Flame and Shadow
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
Day And Night
In Warsaw in Poland
Half the world away,
The one I love best of all
Thought of me to-day;
I know, for I went
Winged as a bird,
In the wide flowing wind
His own voice I heard;
His arms were round me
In a ferny place,
I looked in the pool
And there was his face
But now it is night
And the cold stars say:
“Warsaw in Poland
Is half the world away.”
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
Day And Night
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
Doubt
My soul lives in my body’s house,
And you have both the house and her,
But sometimes she is less your own
Than a wild, gay adventurer;
A restless and an eager wraith,
How can I tell what she will do,
Oh, I am sure of my body’s faith,
But what if my soul broke faith with you?
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
Doubt
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
I Am Not Yours
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love, put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
I Am Not Yours
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
Thank you for reading Fleurs du Mal - magazine for art & literature