Harriet Monroe, ed. (18601936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
|
359. Leaves |
| By Sara Teasdale |
|
|
ONE by one, like leaves from a tree, | |
All my faiths have forsaken me; | |
But the stars above my head | |
Burn in white and delicate red, | |
And beneath my feet the earth | 5 |
Brings the sturdy grass to birth. | |
I who was content to be | |
But a silken-singing tree, | |
But a rustle of delight | |
In the wistful heart of night, | 10 |
I have lost the leaves that knew | |
Touch of rain and weight of dew. | |
Blinded by a leafy crown | |
I looked neither up nor down | |
But the little leaves that die | 15 |
Have left me room to see the sky; | |
Now for the first time I know | |
Stars above and earth below. | |
|
|
|
|