Poem by Sara Teasdale

The Net

I made you many and many a song,
 Yet never one told all you are—
It was as though a net of words
 Were flung to catch a star;

It was as though I curved my hand
 And dipped sea-water eagerly,
Only to find it lost the blue
 Dark splendor of the sea.

1. Gray Fog
2. Spring Torrents
3. Morning Song
4. Nahant
5. In a Cuban Garden

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