No More Learning

Oh, dimmer than a pearl--if you stoop down
Your hand could almost reach it up to me. . . .

There was a new frail yellow moon to-night--
I wish you could have had it for a cup
With stars like dew to fill it to the brim. . . .

How cold it is! Even the lights are cold;
They have put shawls of fog around them, see!
What if the air should grow so dimly white
That we would lose our way along the paths
Made new by walls of moving mist receding
The more we follow. . . . What a silver night!
That was our bench the time you said to me
The long new poem--but how different now,
How eerie with the curtain of the fog
Making it strange to all the friendly trees!
There is no wind, and yet great curving scrolls
Carve themselves, ever changing, in the mist.
Walk on a little, let me stand here watching
To see you, too, grown strange to me and far. . . .
I used to wonder how the park would be
If one night we could have it all alone--
No lovers with close arm-encircled waists
To whisper and break in upon our dreams.
And now we have it! Every wish comes true!
We are alone now in a fleecy world;
Even the stars have gone. We two alone!




[End of Love Songs. ]



{As an item of interest to the reader, the following, which was at the
end of this edition, is included. Only the advertisement for the same
author is included}.




By the same author

Rivers to the Sea


"There is hardly another American woman-poet whose poetry is generally
known and loved like that of Sara Teasdale. 'Rivers to the Sea', her
latest volume of lyrics, possesses the delicacy of imagery, the inward
illumination, the high vision that characterize the poetry that will
endure the test of time.