Thanks to my mom, I grew up reading Sara Teasdale's poetry. I was shocked, as I got older, to discover that she's not as well known to the world as she was to me. So here are two poems by her that I love.
This first poem I love for several reasons: the rhythm, the imagery, the perfection of the last two lines, and also because I never quite believe the speaker and her wish to forget.
Let It Be Forgotten
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,
Let it be forgotten for ever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long forgotten snow.
The second poem I love for its simplicity, again for the rhythm, and for the way she says so much in so few words. Perhaps I should add that Sara Teasdale committed suicide in 1933.
Moon, worn thin to the width of a quill,
In the dawn clouds flying,
How good to go, light into light, and still
Giving light, dying.