Sara Teasdale

(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933 / Missouri)

Comments about Sara Teasdale

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  • Deniz Atay (8/16/2014 9:48:00 AM)

    To be honest, I haven't seen or discovered any poet, that reflects and shelters 'the life' in so few but powerful words with so much love for it - with deep solitude and sadness. Purely impressive...
    To love Sylvia Plath, Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson and to not even know who Sara Teasdale is, is a shame to me especially in this century...

    5 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Keith Sifelani (6/10/2014 12:44:00 AM)

    Great poem, ring beutifully in my ears.

  • Karen Hannsberry (5/6/2014 4:00:00 PM)

    I'm looking for a poem by Sara Teasdale (or so I'm told) that has this sentiment in it: When you pass by my house, remember me. Does this ring a bell with anyone?

  • S B (5/5/2014 5:47:00 PM)

    lovely poems, especially favorite is A Cry

  • James Mazalic (5/4/2014 11:28:00 PM)

    A simply lovely poem!

  • Emerald Green (3/10/2014 4:05:00 AM)

    Sara Teasdale's poems are awesome and her writings have inspired me many times now. I love the simplicity of her writing and the messages she always seem to carry. I only hate she met her death by her own hand..what a shame. I love you Sara..

  • Larry Porter (9/2/2013 7:42:00 PM)

    I follow a path of much praise and a little bit of criticism, but I liked your work and I'm just a beginner
    Review my poem if you get a chase I will only improve from you harsh words.hahaha

  • Jeryn Bean (8/3/2013 12:12:00 AM)

    I write poems from the heart, so they're not silly or anything like that. they are deep, And somber. If you like them or rate them, its up to you. All i ask is that you give them a chance. Please check out my poems. And let me know what you think if you want.

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  • Stacie Doty (6/1/2013 9:14:00 PM)

    You have 'the Flight' entered incorrectly, this is the correct poem:

    The Flight

    The Flight

    We are two eagles
    Flying together
    Under the heavens,
    Over the mountains,
    Stretched on the wind.
    Sunlight heartens us,
    Blind snow baffles us,
    Clouds wheel after us
    Ravelled and thinned.

    We are like eagles,
    But when Death harries us,
    Human and humbled
    When one of us goes,
    Let the other follow,
    Let the flight be ended,
    Let the fire blacken,
    Let the book close.

May Wind

I said, "I have shut my heart
As one shuts an open door,
That Love may starve therein
And trouble me no more."

But over the roofs there came
The wet new wind of May,
And a tune blew up from the curb
Where the street-pianos play.

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