Friday Poetry: Sara Teasdale

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone is well and have good bookish plans for the weekend. We might be having some snow over the weekend and my husband and myself love having a walk through the snow so my chosen poem seemed very apt.

A Winter Bluejay

Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our feet;
Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
Our shadows danced
Fantastic shapes in vivid blue,
Across the lake the skaters
Flew to and fro,
With sharp turns weaving
A frail invisible net.
In ecstasy the earth
Drank the silver sunlight;
In ecstasy the skaters
Drank the wine of speed;
In ecstasy we laughed
Drinking the wine of love.
Had not the music of our joy
Sounded its highest note?
But no, 
For suddenly, with lifted eyes you said,
'Oh look!'
There, on the black bough of a snow-flecked maple,
Fearless and gay as our love,
A bluejay cocked his crest!
Oh, who can tell the range of joy
Or set the bounds of beauty?

Sara Teasdale

Happy Reading!

Friday Poetry: Sara Teasdale

Happy Friday!

Christmas is fast approaching, so here is another Christmas poem and this one is by Sara Teasdale.

This poem is by Sara Teasdale, Teasdale was an American lyric poet born in 1884. Sadly she committed suicide in 1933.

Christmas Carol

The kings they came from out the south, 
   All dressed in ermine fine; 
They bore Him gold and chrysoprase, 
   And gifts of precious wine.

The shepherds came from out the north, 
   Their coats were brown and old; 
They brought Him little new-born lambs— 
   They had not any gold.

The wise men came from out the east, 
   And they were wrapped in white; 
The star that led them all the way 
   Did glorify the night.

The angels came from heaven high, 
   And they were clad with wings; 
And lo, they brought a joyful song 
   The host of heaven sings.

The kings they knocked upon the door, 
   The wise men entered in, 
The shepherds followed after them 
   To hear the song begin.

The angels sang through all the night 
   Until the rising sun, 
But little Jesus fell asleep 
   Before the song was done.

Sara Teasdale

Happy Reading!

Friday Poetry: Sara Teasdale

It’s Friday!

Happy Friday Everyone!

Tomorrow is the anniversary of the moon landing so I have chosen a related poem. Yes, this week I am very moon landing orientated on the blog.

This poem is by Sara Teasdale, Teasdale was an American lyric poet born in 1884. Sadly she committed suicide in 1933.

This poem depicts the moon one morning.

 

Morning Song

A diamond of a morning

Waked me an hour too soon;

Dawn had taken in the stars

And left the faint white moon.

 

O white moon, you are lonely,

It is the same with me,

But we have the world to roam over,

Only the lonely are free.

 

Sara Teasdale

 

Happy reading.

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