Afterwards, amid the autumn dusk,
Let it be forgotten by February twilight,
these faults.
My heart is heavy with old love.
Love, this is not a word, but an epitaph.
What do I care, in the morning?
Says a voice around me now,
here in this spirit’s house.
***
Today is the birthday of American lyric poet Sara Teasdale (1884-1933). The lines above are composed with some of her poem titles. The title of this post references a collection she published in 1915.
The more I read from Teasdale, the more I appreciate her work. My favorite is “There will come soft rains”. Thank you for celebrating her birthday!
I feel the same way! Thank you, Bartholomew : )
“My heart is heavy with old love” sometimes too, Stacey. Beautiful tribute and as always, spectacularly-placed words. ❤️
Big virtual hug, Carolyn. Thank you so much for sharing this and being here. xoxo
XO ❤️
“..and children’s faces, looking up, holding wonder like a cup..” That was probably the clincher for me with Teasdale. A woman who was present to the world. Thank you!