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Poet: Sara Teasdale

It Is Not a Word

Poet: Sara Teasdale

It is not a word spoken,
Few words are said;
Nor even a look of the eyes
Nor a bend of the head,

But only a hush of the heart
That has too much to keep,


Poet: Sara Teasdale

As dew leaves the cobweb lightly
     Threaded with stars,
Scattering jewels on the fence
     And the pasture bars;
As dawn leaves the dry grass bright
     And the tangled weeds
Bearing a rainbow gem
     On each of their seeds;

The Fountain

Poet: Sara Teasdale

Oh in the deep blue night
     The fountain sang alone;
It sang to the drowsy heart
     Of a satyr carved in stone.

The fountain sang and sang
     But the satyr never stirred–

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