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Sara Teasdale (Сара Тисдейл)


Indian Summer


LYRIC night of the lingering Indian summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
    Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper's horn, and far off, high in the maples
The wheel of a locust slowly grinding the silence,
Under a moon waning and warn and broken,
    Tired with summer.

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember you, soon the winter will be on us,
    Snow-hushed and heartless.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction
While I gaze, oh fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
    Lest they forget them.



Sara Teasdale's other poems:
  1. In the Metropolitan Museum
  2. But Not to Me
  3. Debt
  4. The Look
  5. Twilight


Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • Hamlin Garland (Гэмлин Гарленд) Indian Summer ("AT last there came")
  • Lydia Sigourney (Лидия Сигурни) Indian Summer ("WHEN was the redman's summer?")
  • John Tabb (Джон Табб) Indian Summer ("NO more the battle or the chase")
  • Henry Van Dyke (Генри Ван Дайк) Indian Summer ("A soft veil dims the tender skies")

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