Poem by Sara Teasdale

After Love

  There is no magic any more,
   We meet as other people do,
  You work no miracle for me
   Nor I for you.

  You were the wind and I the sea--
   There is no splendor any more,
  I have grown listless as the pool
   Beside the shore.

  But though the pool is safe from storm
   And from the tide has found surcease,
  It grows more bitter than the sea,
   For all its peace.

1. Dusk in War Time
2. Enough
3. Riches
4. Houses of Dreams
5. Joy

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