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    Rivers to the Sea
    Rivers to the Sea
    Rivers to the Sea
    Ebook119 pages45 minutes

    Rivers to the Sea

    By Sara Teasdale

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    About this ebook

    The tragic Sara Teasdale was one of the foremost female poets of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, with her formal style and focus on romance. "Rivers To the Sea" is a solid collection of her work, and has many of her best-known love poems in it.

    Although the early twentieth century saw the blossoming of the "new" poetry, Teasdale stuck to more formal prose: "The fountain shivers lightly in the rain/the laurels drip, the fading roses fall/the marble satyr plays a mournful strain/That leaves the rainy fragrance musical." Not terribly original in HOW it's written, but the rich language is all the more striking.

    While Teasdale experimented late in her life, "Rivers to the Sea" mostly sticks to formal styles. Sometimes she did dense, intense, longer poems that seemed to have been written a long time ago. "Ah, Love there is no fleeing from thy might,/No lonely place where thou hast never trod,/No desert thou hast left uncarpeted/With flowers that spring beneath thy perfect feet."

    Clever imagery and timeless emotion and at a great price.

    Depending on where you are in your life you will seize the positive or accentuate the negative or just bask in the melancholy.
     
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriOnlineShopping.com
    Release dateJan 29, 2019
    ISBN9788832503920
    Author

    Sara Teasdale

    Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) was an American poet. Born in St. Louis, Missouri, Teasdale suffered from poor health as a child before entering school at the age of ten. In 1904, after graduating from Hosmer Hall, Teasdale joined the group of female artists known as The Potters, who published The Potter’s Wheel, a monthly literary and visual arts magazine, from 1904 to 1907. With her first two collections—Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems (1907) and Helen of Troy and Other Poems (1911)—Teasdale earned a reputation as a gifted lyric poet from critics and readers alike. In 1916, following the publication of her bestselling Rivers to the Sea (1915), she moved to New York City with her husband Ernst Filsinger. There, she won the 1918 Pulitzer Prize for Love Songs (1917), her fourth collection. Frustrated with Filsinger’s prolonged absences while traveling for work, she divorced him in 1929 and moved to another apartment in the Upper West Side. Renewing her friendship with poet Vachel Lindsay, she continued to write and publish poems until her death by suicide in 1933.

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      Book preview

      Rivers to the Sea - Sara Teasdale

      https://iOnlineShopping.com

      PART V

      RIVERS TO THE SEA

      BY

      SARA TEASDALE

      To

      ERNST

      CONTENTS

      PART I

      SPRING NIGHT THE FLIGHT NEW LOVE AND OLD THE LOOK SPRING THE LIGHTED WINDOW THE KISS SWANS THE OLD MAID FROM THE WOOLWORTH TOWER AT NIGHT THE YEARS PEACE APRIL COME MOODS APRIL SONG MAY DAY CROWNED TO A CASTILIAN SONG BROADWAY A WINTER BLUEJAY IN A RESTAURANT JOY IN A RAILROAD STATION IN THE TRAIN TO ONE AWAY SONG DEEP IN THE NIGHT THE INDIA WHARF I SHALL NOT CARE DESERT POOLS LONGING PITY AFTER PARTING ENOUGH ALCHEMY FEBRUARY MORNING MAY NIGHT DUSK IN JUNE LOVE-FREE SUMMER NIGHT, RIVERSIDE IN A SUBWAY STATION AFTER LOVE DOORYARD ROSES A PRAYER

      PART II

      INDIAN SUMMER THE SEA WIND THE CLOUD THE POOR HOUSE NEW YEAR'S DAWN-BROADWAY THE STAR DOCTORS THE INN OF EARTH IN THE CARPENTER'S SHOP THE CARPENTER'S SON THE MOTHER OF A POET IN MEMORIAM F. O. S TWILIGHT SWALLOW FLIGHT THOUGHTS TO DICK, ON HIS SIXTH BIRTHDAY TO ROSE THE FOUNTAIN THE ROSE DREAMS I AM NOT YOURS PIERROT'S SONG NIGHT IN ARIZONA DUSK IN WAR TIME SPRING IN WAR TIME WHILE I MAY DEBT FROM THE NORTH THE LIGHTS OF NEW YORK SEA LONGING THE RIVER LEAVES THE ANSWER

      PART III

      OVER THE ROOFS A CRY CHANCE IMMORTAL AFTER DEATH TESTAMENT GIFTS

      PART IV

      FROM THE SEA VIGNETTES OVERSEAS

      PART V

      SAPPHO

      —————————————————

      I

      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.

      Oh, 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?

      Oh, beauty, are you not enough?

      Why am I crying after love?

      THE FLIGHT

      LOOK back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,

      Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,

      Let our flight be far in sun or windy rain—

      BUT WHAT IF I HEARD MY FIRST LOVE CALLING ME AGAIN?

      Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam,

      Take me far away to the hills that hide your home;

      Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door—

      BUT WHAT IF I HEARD MY FIRST LOVE CALLING ME ONCE MORE?

      THE LOOK

      NEW LOVE AND OLD

      IN my heart the old love

      Struggled with the new;

      It was ghostly waking

      All night thru.

      Dear things, kind things,

      That my old love said,

      Ranged themselves reproachfully

      Round my bed.

      But I could not heed them,

      For I seemed to see

      The eyes of my new love

      Fixed on me.

      Old love, old love,

      How can I be true?

      Shall I be faithless to myself

      Or to you?

      STREPHON kissed me in the spring,

      Robin in the fall,

      But Colin only looked at me

      And never kissed at all.

      Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,

      Robin's lost in play,

      But the kiss in Colin's eyes

      Haunts me night and day.

      SPRING

      IN Central Park the lovers sit,

      On every hilly path they stroll,

      Each thinks his love is infinite,

      And crowns his soul.

      But we are cynical and wise,

      We walk a careful foot apart,

      You make a

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