Sara Teasdale

"This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead That sparkled so the day I saw it first, And darkened slowly after. I am she Who loves all beauty — yet I wither it."

"Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more To thee, Gods daughter, powerful as God, It is that thou hast made my life too sweet To hold the added sweetness of a song. There is a quiet at the heart of love, And I have pierced the pain and come to peace."

"We weep before the Blessed Mothers shrine, To think upon her sorrows, but her joys What nun could ever know a tithing of? The precious hours she watched above His sleep Were worth the fearful anguish of the end. Yea, lack of love is bitterest of all."

"I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes."

"I may not speak till Eros torch is dim, The god is bitter and will have it so."

"No one worth possessing Can be quite possessed."