To Rose

Rose, when I remember you,
Little lady, scarcely two,
I am suddenly aware
Of the angels in the air.
All your softly gracious ways
Make an island in my days
Where my thoughts fly back to be
Sheltered from too strong a sea.
All your luminous delight
Shines before me in the night
When I grope for sleep and find
Only shadows in my mind.

Rose, when I remember you,
White and glowing, pink and new,
With so swift a sense of fun
Altho' life has just begun;
With so sure a pride of place
In your very infant face,
I should like to make a prayer
To the angels in the air:
"If an angel ever brings
Me a baby in her wings,
Please be certain that it grows
Very, very much like Rose."

Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale (August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933) was an American lyric poet. She was born in St. Louis, Missouri and her first poem publication was in 1907. Teasdale's style was characterized by clarity and simplicity, often focusing on themes of love, nature, and death. She won the Columbia University Poetry Society Prize for her 1917 collection Love Songs. Unfortunately, she faced severe health issues and depression towards the end of her life, leading to her suicide in 1933.

Sara Teasdale

From The Sea

Sara Teasdale, Simple Poetry

The Solitary

Sara Teasdale, Simple Poetry

Rivers To The Sea

Sara Teasdale, Simple Poetry

Vox Corporis

Sara Teasdale, Simple Poetry

English

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The snow-flakes were softly falling
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From The Sea

All beauty calls you to me, and you seem,
Past twice a thousand miles of shifting sea,
To reach me. You are as the wind I breathe
Here on the ships sun-smitten topmost deck,
With only light between the heavens and me.
I feel your spirit and I close my eyes,
Knowing the bright hair blowing in the sun,
The eager whisper and the searching eyes.

Listen, I love you. Do not turn your face
Nor touch me. Only stand and watch awhile
The blue unbroken circle of the sea.
Look far away and let me ease my heart
Of words that beat in it with broken wing.
Look far away, and if I say too much,
Forget that I am speaking. Only watch,
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The Rose

Beneath my chamber window
Pierrot was singing, singing;
I heard his lute the whole night thru
Until the east was red.
Alas, alas Pierrot,
I had no rose for flinging
Save one that drank my tears for dew
Before its leaves were dead.

I found it in the darkness,
I kissed it once and threw it,
The petals scattered over him,
His song was turned to joy;
And he will never know,
Alas, the one who knew it!
The rose was plucked when dusk was dim
Beside a laughing boy.

Sara Teasdale

Rose.

When the evening broods quiescent
Over mountain, vale and lea,
And the moon uplifts her crescent
Far above the peaceful sea,
Little Rose, the fisher's daughter,
Passes in her cedar skiff
O'er the dreamy waste of water,
To the signal on the cliff.

Have a care, my merry maiden!
Young Adonis though he be,
Many hearts are secret-laden
That have trusted such as he.
Has he worth, and is he truthful?
Thoughtless maiden rarely knows;
But, "He's handsome, brave and youthful,"
Says the heart of little Rose.

Hark! the horn - its shrill vibrations
Tremble through the maiden's breast,
As the sweet reverberations
Dwindle to their whispered rest;
Sweeter far the honied sentence
Sealing up her mind's repose;
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Mystical Rose, Pray For Us!

O aptly named, Illustrious One!
    Thou art that flower fair
That filled this vast and changeful world
    With mystic perfume rare -
Shedding on all the balmy breath
    Of countless virtues high,
Rising like fragrant odours rich,
    To God's far, beauteous sky.

Mystical Rose! O aptly named!
    For, as 'mid brightest flowers
The lovely Rose unquestioned reigns
    The Queen of Nature's bowers,
So 'mid the daughters fair of Eve
    Art thou the peerless One!
The chosen handmaid of the Lord!
    The Mother of His Son!

Yes, He endowed thee with all gifts
    Which could thy beauty grace;
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    Thy spotless soul deface,
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The Moss Rose

'Tis said, long since an angel came to earth,
Sent by his Lord, to help with loving hand
A suffering one, afflicted from his birth.
The limb was healed as by divine command,
But He felt weak, for strength from Him had gone,
A sacrifice which love could not withhold;
So he sought shelter till the morning dawn,
But none received--they prized not love, but gold.

Then 'neath a rose bush did the angel lie,
And rested well until the break of day,
When much refreshed he sought his home on high,
But ere he started on his upward way,
He said to sheltering rose, in loving voice,
"What man refused thou hast afforded me.
What is thy wish? Make known to me thy choice;
The God of love and power will grant it thee!"

"I ask no brighter hue," the rose replied,

Joseph Horatio Chant