Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) |
For Valentine’s Day, here is a lovely poem that my
step-daughter chose and read for us at the blessing ceremony for my husband and
me in a 13th century church in England in 2001. It was written by
Sara Teasdale, a poet of the Chicago Renaissance who won the forerunner
of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1918.
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.
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.
Sarah Teasdale