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Sara Teasdale (Сара Тисдейл)


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.



Sara Teasdale's other poems:
  1. The Net
  2. In Spring, Santa Barbara
  3. Arcturus
  4. In a Garden
  5. The Return


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Английская поэзия