| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). 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. | |
| |
|
|
|
