The Tree of Song -- Sara Teasdale

(Poem #230)The Tree of Song I sang my songs for the rest, For you I am still; The tree of my song is bare On its shining hill. For you came like a lordly wind, And the leaves were whirled Far as forgotten things Past the rim of the world. The tree of my song stands bare Against the blue -- I gave my songs to the rest, Myself to you. -- Sara Teasdale

What Do I Care? -- Sara Teasdale

(Poem #188)What Do I Care? What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring, That my songs do not show me at all? For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a fire, I am an answer, they are only a call. But what do I care, for love will be over so soon, Let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by, For my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent, It is my heart that makes my songs, not I. -- Sara Teasdale

Central Park at Dusk -- Sara Teasdale

(Poem #116)Central Park at Dusk Buildings above the leafless trees Loom high as castles in a dream, While one by one the lamps come out To thread the twilight with a gleam. There is no sign of leaf or bud, A hush is over everything-- Silent as women wait for love, The world is waiting for the spring. -- Sara Teasdale

Wild Asters -- Sara Teasdale

(Poem #74)Wild Asters In the spring I asked the daisies If his words were true, And the clever, clear-eyed daisies Always knew. Now the fields are brown and barren, Bitter autumn blows, And of all the stupid asters Not one knows. -- Sara Teasdale