Sara Teasdale for All Saints Day
The Answer
When I go back to earth
And all my joyous body
Puts off the red and white
That once had been so proud,
If men should pass above
With false and feeble pity,
My dust will find a voice
To answer them aloud:
“Be still, I am content,
Take back your poor compassion—
Joy was a flame in me
Too steady to destroy.
Lithe as a bending reed
Loving the storm that sways her—
I found more joy in sorrow
Than you could find in joy.”
I Could Snatch a Day
I could snatch a day out of the late autumn
And set it trembling like forgotten springs.
There would be sharp blue skies and new leaves shining,
And flying shadows cast by flying wings.
I could take the heavy wheel of the world and break it --
But we sit brooding while the ashes fall,
Cowering over an old fire that blackens,
Waiting for nothing at all.
Both poems by Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)
