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Poem by Sara Teasdale The New Moon DAY, you have bruised and beaten me, As rain beats down the bright, proud sea, Beaten my body, bruised my soul, Left me nothing lovely or whole— Yet I have wrested a gift from you, Day that dies in dusky blue: For suddenly over the factories I saw a moon in the cloudy seas— A wisp of beauty all alone In a world as hard and gray as stone— Oh who could be bitter and want to die When a maiden moon wakes up in the sky? Sara Teasdale Sara Teasdale's other poems: Poems of the other poets with the same name: 1369 Views |
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