CHAPTER VII 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.
35 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.
36 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
37 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
38 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
39 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
40 Answering Voice: A Hundred Love Lyrics by Women", 1917. Miss Teasdale is a lyric poet of an unusually pure and spontaneous gift."