Teasdale Quotes & Sayings

In my heart's most secret place,
I pity them as angels do. — Sara Teasdale

Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children's faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup. — Sara Teasdale

Every one of us is a mystic. We may or may not realize it, we may not even like it. But whether we know it or not, whether we accept it or not, mystical experience is always there, inviting us on a journey of ultimate discovery. We have been given the gift of life in this perplexing world to become who we ultimately are: creatures of boundless love, caring compassion, and wisdom. Existence is a summons to the eternal journey of the sage - the sage we all are, if only we could see. — Wayne Teasdale

There is a quiet at the heart of love, And I have pierced the pain and come to peace. — Sara Teasdale

I saw a star slide down the sky Blinding the north as it went by Too buring and too quick to hold Too lovely to be bought or sold Good only to make wishes on And then forever to be gone — Sara Teasdale

And when you spoke to me, I did not know
That to my life's high altar came its priest. — Sara Teasdale

My soul is a broken field, plowed by pain. — Sara Teasdale

For I shall learn from flower and leaf,
That color every drop they hold,
To change the lifeless wine of grief
To living gold. — Sara Teasdale

I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.
Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me. — Sara Teasdale

There in the windy flood of morning Longing lifted its weight from me, Lost as a sob in the midst of cheering, Swept as a sea-bird out to sea. — Sara Teasdale

The rise of community among cultures and religious traditions makes possible what we can call 'interspirituality': the assimilation of insights, values, and spiritual practices from the various religions and their application to one's own inner life and development. — Wayne Teasdale

Life is but thought. — Sara Teasdale

What transforms us is not what we do but our integration with WHAT IS. — Wayne Teasdale

When I am dead, and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain drenched hair,
Tho you should lean above me broken hearted,
I shall not care.
For I shall have peace.
As leafey trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough.
And I shall be more silent and cold hearted
Than you are now — Sara Teasdale

Joy was a flame in me Too steady to destroy. Lithe as a bending reed, Loving the storm that sways her — Sara Teasdale

I think you should ignore Sara Teasdale (she's a bit of a moper, to be honest.).
Take Christina Rossetti's advice and be fire. — Mary Jane Hathaway

In The Wood
I heard the water-fall rejoice
Singing like a choir,
I saw the sun flash out of it
Azure and amber fire.
The earth was like an open flower
Enamelled and arrayed,
The path I took to find its heart
Fluttered with sun and shade.
And while earth lured me, gently, gently,
Happy and all alone,
Suddenly a heavy snake
Reared black upon a stone. — Sara Teasdale

I would not have a god come in
To shield me suddenly from sin,
And set my house of life to rights;
Nor angels with bright burning wings
Ordering my earthly thoughts and things;
Rather my own frail guttering lights
Wind blown and nearly beaten out;
Rather the terror of the nights
And long, sick groping after doubt;
Rather be lost than let my soul
Slip vaguely from my own control
Of my own spirit let me be
In sole though feeble mastery. — Sara Teasdale

O beauty, are you not enough; why am I crying after love. — Sara Teasdale

Love In Autumn

I sought among the drifting leaves,
The golden leaves that once were green,
To see if Love were hiding there
And peeping out between.

For thro' the silver showers of May
And thro' the summer's heavy heat,
In vain I sought his golden head
And light, fast-flying feet.

Perhaps when all the world is bare
And cruel winter holds the land,
The Love that finds no place to hide
Will run and catch my hand.

I shall not care to have him then,
I shall be bitter and a-cold --
It grows too late for frolicking
When all the world is old.

Then little hiding Love, come forth,
Come forth before the autumn goes,
And let us seek thro' ruined paths
The garden's last red rose. — Sara Teasdale

It is strange how often a heart must be broken
Before the years can make it wise. — Sara Teasdale

I am alone, as though I stood On the highest peak of the tired gray world,About me only swirling snow, Above me, endless space unfurled;With earth hidden and heaven hidden, And only my own spirit's prideTo keep me from the peace of those Who are not lonely, having died. — Sara Teasdale

The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die ... — Sara Teasdale

Mrs. Teasdale congratulates him on his coronation and sovereignty: "The eyes of the world are upon you. Notables from every country are gathered here in your honor. This is a gala day for you." Firefly replies: "Well, a gal a day is enough for me. I don't think I could handle any more." — Groucho Marx

I shall not let a sorrow die Until I find the heart of it, Nor let a wordless joy go by Until it talks to me a bit. — Sara Teasdale

Firefly: Where is your husband? Mrs. Teasdale: Why, he's dead. Firefly: I'll bet he's just using that as an excuse. Mrs. Teasdale: I was with him to the very end. Firefly: Hmmph. No wonder he passed away. Mrs. Teasdale: I held him in my arms and kissed him. Firefly: Oh I see. Then, it was murder. — Groucho Marx

When I can look life in the eyes, grown calm and very coldly wise, life will have given me the truth, and taken in exchange - my youth. — Sara Teasdale

At Midnight
Now at last I have come to see what life is,
Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun,
And the brave victories that seem so splendid
Are never really won.
Even love that I built my spirit's house for,
Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest,
And music and men's praise and even laughter
Are not so good as rest. — Sara Teasdale

My theory is that poems are written because of a state of emotional irritation. It may be present for some time before the poet is conscious of what is tormenting him. The emotional irritation springs, probably, from subconscious combinations of partly forgotten thoughts and feelings. Coming together, like electrical currents in a thunder storm, they produce a poem ... the poem is written to free the poet from an emotional burden. — Sara Teasdale

Desert Pools
I love too much; I am a river
Surging with spring that seeks the sea,
I am too generous a giver,
Love will not stoop to drink of me.
His feet will turn to desert places
Shadowless, reft of rain and dew,
Where stars stare down with sharpened faces
From heavens pitilessly blue.
And there at midnight sick with faring,
He will stoop down in his desire
To slake the thirst grown past all bearing
In stagnant water keen as fire. — Sara Teasdale

Time is a kind friend, he will make us old. — Sara Teasdale

Call him wise whose actions, words, and steps are all a clear because to a clear why. — Sara Teasdale

There's nothing half so real in life as the things you've done ... inexorably, unalterably done. — Sara Teasdale

The roofs are shining from the rain,
The sparrows twitter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.
Yet the back yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree-
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me. — Sara Teasdale

Into my heart's treasury I slipped a coin That Time cannot take Nor a thief purloin- O better than the minting Of a gold-crowned king Is the safe-kept memory Of a lovely thing. — Sara Teasdale

Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;
For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
Shining after the rain? — Sara Teasdale

I stood beside a hill
Smooth with new-laid snow,
A single star looked out
From the cold evening glow.
There was not other creature
That saw what I could see,
I stood and watched the evening star
As long as it watched me. — Sara Teasdale

I found more joy in sorrow than you could find in joy. — Sara Teasdale

O lovely chance, what can I doTo give my gratefulness to you?You rise between myself and meWith a wise persistency;I would have broken body and soul,But by your grace, still I am whole. — Sara Teasdale

This is the spot where I will lie
When life has had enough of me,
These are the grasses that will blow
Above me like a living sea.
These gay old lilies will not shrink
To draw their life from death of mine,
And I will give my body's fire
To make blue flowers on this vine.
"O Soul," I said, "have you no tears?
Was not the body dear to you?"
I heard my soul say carelessly,
"The myrtle flowers will grow more blue. — Sara Teasdale

Message
I heard a cry in the night,
A thousand miles it came,
Sharp as a flash of light,
My name, my name!
It was your voice I heard,
You waked and loved me so
I send you back this word,
I know, I know! — Sara Teasdale

The Net
I made you many and many a song,
Yet never one told all you are
It was as though a net of words
Were flung to catch a star;
It was as though I curved my hand
And dipped sea-water eagerly,
Only to find it lost the blue
Dark splendor of the sea. — Sara Teasdale

What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring,
That my songs do not show me at all?
For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a fire,
I am an answer, they are only a call — Sara Teasdale

Look for a lovely thing and you will find it, it is not far, it never will be far — Sara Teasdale

There Will Be Stars
There will be stars over the place forever;
Though the house we loved and the street we loved are lost,
Every time the earth circles her orbit
On the night the autumn equinox is crossed,
Two stars we knew, poised on the peak of midnight
Will reach their zenith; stillness will be deep;
There will be stars over the place forever,
There will be stars forever, while we sleep. — Sara Teasdale

It was a night of early spring,
The winter-sleep was scarcely broken;
Around us shadows and the wind
Listened for what was never spoken.
Though half a score of years are gone,
Spring comes as sharply now as then
But if we had it all to do
It would be done the same again.
It was a spring that never came;
But we have lived enough to know
That what we never have, remains;
It is the things we have that go. — Sara Teasdale

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too, The world's heart breaks beneath its wars,All things are changed, save in the east,The faithful beauty of the stars. — Sara Teasdale

But oh, to him I loved Who loved me not at all,I owe the little open gate That led thru heaven's wall. — Sara Teasdale

Let me remember you, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heartless. — Sara Teasdale

Can I ever know you / Or you know me? — Sara Teasdale

Oh to be free of myself, With nothing left to remember, To have my heart as bare As a tree in December; Resting, as a tree rests After its leaves are gone, Waiting no more for a rain at night Nor for the red at dawn. — Sara Teasdale

Interspirituality is essentially an agent of a universal mysticism and integral spirituality. We often walk the interspiritual or intermystical path in an intuitive attempt to reach a more complete truth. That final integration, a deep convergence, is an integral spirituality. Bringing together all the great systems of spiritual wisdom, practice, insight, reflection, experience, and science provides a truly integral understanding of spirituality in its practical application in our lives, regardless of our tradition. — Wayne Teasdale

The Long Hill
I must have passed the crest a while ago
And now I am going down
Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know,
But the brambles were always grabbing at the hem of my gown.
All the morning I thought how proud I should be
To stand there straight as a queen,
Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under me
But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen.
It was nearly level along the beaten track
And the brambles caught in my gown
But it's no use now to think of turning back,
The rest of the way will be only going down. — Sara Teasdale

A Boy
Out of the noise of tired people working,
Harried with thoughts of war and lists of dead,
His beauty met me like a fresh wind blowing,
Clean boyish beauty and high-held head.
Eyes that told secrets, lips that would not tell them,
Fearless and shy the young unwearied eyes
Men die by millions now, because God blunders,
Yet to have made this boy he must be wise. — Sara Teasdale

At Night
Love said, "Wake still and think of me,"
Sleep, "Close your eyes till break of day,"
But Dreams came by and smilingly
Gave both to Love and Sleep their way. — Sara Teasdale

Beauty, more than bitterness, makes the heart break. — Sara Teasdale

The Unchanging
Sun-swept beaches with a light wind blowing
From the immense blue circle of the sea,
And the soft thunder where long waves whiten
These were the same for Sappho as for me.
Two thousand years - much has gone by forever,
Change takes the gods and ships and speech of men
But here on the beaches that time passes over
The heart aches now as then. — Sara Teasdale

I try to catch at many a tuneLike petals of light fallen from the moon,Broken and bright on a dark lagoon,But they float away - for who can holdYouth, or perfume or the moon's gold? — Sara Teasdale

Work is holy, sacred, and uplifting when it springs from who we are, when it bears a relationship to our unfolding journey. — Wayne Teasdale

Old love, old love, / How can I be true? / Shall I be faithless to myself / Or to you? — Sara Teasdale

Now at last I have come to see what life is, Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun, And the brave victories that seem so splendid Are never really won. — Sara Teasdale

But what do I care, for love will be over so soon,
Let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by,
For my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent,
It is my heart that makes my songs, not I. — Sara Teasdale

It is enough for me by day To walk the same bright earth with him; Enough that over us by night The same great roof of stars is dim. I do not hope to bind the wind Or set a fetter on the sea
It is enough to feel his love Blow by like music over me. — Sara Teasdale

Child, child, love while you can
The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man;
Never fear though it break your heart-
Out of the wound new joy will start;
Only love proudly and gladly and well,
Though love be heaven or love be hell.
Child, child, love while you may,
For life is short as a happy day;
Never fear the thing you feel-
Only by love is life made real;
Love, for the deadly sins are seven,
Only through love will you enter heaven. — Sara Teasdale

I Have Loved Hours at Sea
I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,
The fragile secret of a flower,
Music, the making of a poem
That gave me heaven for an hour;
First stars above a snowy hill,
Voices of people kindly and wise,
And the great look of love, long hidden,
Found at last in meeting eyes.
I have loved much and been loved deeply
Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,
Leave me the darkness and the stillness,
I shall be tired and glad to go. — Sara Teasdale

It is the inner life that is to spark the change in consciousness that will permit us to advance — Wayne Teasdale

I saw the sunset-colored sands,
The Nile like flowing fire between,
Where Rameses stares forth serene,
And Ammon's heavy temple stands.
I saw the rocks where long ago,
Above the sea that cries and breaks,
Swift Perseus with Medusa's snakes
Set free the maiden white like snow.
And many skies have covered me,
And many winds have blown me forth,
And I have loved the green, bright north,
And I have loved the cold, sweet sea.
But what to me are north and south,
And what the lure of many lands,
Since you have leaned to catch my hands
And lay a kiss upon my mouth. — Sara Teasdale

I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
But my heart was full of my new love's glory,
My eyes were laughing and unafraid.
I met one who had loved me madly
And told his love for all to hear
But we talked of a thousand things together,
The past was buried too deep to fear.
I met the other, whose love was given
With never a kiss and scarcely a word -
Oh, it was then the terror took me
Of words unuttered that breathed and stirred.
Oh, love that lives its life with laughter
Or love that lives its life with tears
Can die - but love that is never spoken
Goes like a ghost through the winding years ...
I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
My heart was full of my new love's glory, -
But my eyes were suddenly afraid. — Sara Teasdale

I should be glad of loneliness And hours that go on broken wings,A thirsty body, a tired heart And the unchanging ache of things,If I could make a single song As lovely and as full of light,As hushed and brief as a falling star On a winter night. — Sara Teasdale

[Mrs. Teasdale]: He's had a change of heart. [Groucho]: A lot of good that'll do him. He's still got the same face. — Groucho Marx

The ache of empty arms was an old tale to you. — Sara Teasdale

I have no riches but my thoughts,
Yet these are wealth enough for me — Sara Teasdale

Never fear the thing you feel
Only by love is life made real — Sara Teasdale

It will not hurt me when I am old, A running tide where moonlight burned Will not sting me like silver snakes;The years will make me sad and cold, It is the happy heart that breaks. — Sara Teasdale

Love in my heart is a cry forever
Lost as the swallow's flight,
Seeking for you and never, never
Stilled by the stars at night — Sara Teasdale

I shall gather myself into my self again,
I shall take my scattered selves and make them one. — Sara Teasdale

I am not yours, nor lost in you, not lost, although I long to be. Lost as a candle lit at noon, lost as a snowflake in the sea. You love me, and I find you still a spirit beautiful and bright, yet I am I, who long to be lost as a light is lost in light. — Sara Teasdale

From my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free. For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality. — Sara Teasdale

Pain
Waves are the sea's white daughters,
And raindrops the children of rain,
But why for my shimmering body
Have I a mother like Pain?
Night is the mother of stars,
And wind the mother of foam
The world is brimming with beauty,
But I must stay at home. — Sara Teasdale

The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.
Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May. — Sara Teasdale

If the ecological crisis, for example, is to be solved and if we are to promote genuine justice and thus bring real peace to the planet-and with it the possibility of improving lives on every level, not just economically, socially, and politically, but spiritually, psychologically, and intellectually-then, just on a practical level, we need to have all of the religions working together. — Wayne Teasdale

Life is a frail moth flying Caught in the web of the years that pass. — Sara Teasdale

The leaves fall patiently
Nothing remembers or grieves
The river takes to the sea
The yellow drift of leaves. — Sara Teasdale

How many million Aprils came
before I ever knew
how white a cherry bough could be,
a bed of squills, how blue
And many a dancing April
when life is done with me,
will lift the blue flame of the flower
and the white flame of the tree
Oh burn me with your beauty then,
oh hurt me tree and flower,
lest in the end death try to take
even this glistening hour ... — Sara Teasdale

SONG You bound strong sandals on my feet, You gave me bread and wine, And sent me under sun and stars, For all the world was mine. Oh, take the sandals off my feet, You know not what you do, For all my world is in your arms, My sun and stars are you. — Sara Teasdale

My heart is a garden tired with autumn. — Sara Teasdale

The spring is fresh and fearless
And every leaf is new,
The world is brimmed with moonlight,
The lilac brimmed with dew.

Here in the moving shadows
I catch my breath and sing -
My heart is fresh and fearless
And over-brimmed with spring. — Sara Teasdale

We have been given the gift of life in this perplexing world to become who we ultimately are: creatures of boundless love, caring compassion, and wisdom. — Wayne Teasdale

My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain. — Sara Teasdale

The Flight
Look back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,
Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,
Let our flight be far in sun or blowing rain
But what if I heard my first love calling me again?
Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam,
Take me far away to the hills that hide your home;
Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door
But what if I heard my first love calling me once more? — Sara Teasdale

I make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes. — Sara Teasdale

The poet should try to give his poem the quiet swiftness of flame, so that the reader will feel and not think while he is reading. But the thinking will come afterwards. — Sara Teasdale

If I can find out God, then I shall find Him,If none can find Him, then I shall sleep soundly,Knowing how well on earth your love sufficed me, A lamp in darkness. — Sara Teasdale

If I Must Go
If I must go to heaven's end
Climbing the ages like a stair,
Be near me and forever bend
With the same eyes above me there;
Time will fly past us like leaves flying,
We shall not heed, for we shall be
Beyond living, beyond dying,
Knowing and known unchangeably. — Sara Teasdale

Only In Sleep
Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.
Only in sleep Time is forgotten
What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago,
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.
The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,
I met their eyes and found them mild
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,
And for them am I too a child? — Sara Teasdale

Oh, love that lives its life with laughter Or love that lives its life with tears Can die - but love that is never spoken Goes like a ghost through the winding years ... — Sara Teasdale

If I am peaceful, I shall seeBeauty's face continually;Feeding on her wine and breadI shall be wholly comforted,For she can make one day for meRich as my lost eternity. — Sara Teasdale

The earth itself is their church; the vast, open sky its ceiling. — Wayne 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; So has your love, my lover, Fresh as the dawn, Made me a shining road To travel on, Set every common sight Of tree or stone Delicately alight For me alone. — Sara Teasdale

If Death Is Kind
Perhaps if Death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.
We will come down at night to these resounding beaches
And the long gentle thunder of the sea,
Here for a single hour in the wide starlight
We shall be happy, for the dead are free. — Sara Teasdale