NIGHT
Stars over snow
   And in the west a planet
Swinging below a star--
   Look for a lovely thing and you will find it,
It is not far --
   It never will be far.

WINTER
I shall have winter now and lessening days,
Lit by a smoky sun with slanting rays,
And after falling leaves, the first determined frost.
The colors of the world will all be lost. 
So be it; the faint buzzing of the snow
Will fill the empty boughs,
And after sleet storms I shall wake to see
A glittering glassy plume of every tree.
Nothing shall tempt me from my fire-lit house.
And I shall find at night a friendly ember
And make my life of what I can remember.

A WINTER BLUE JAY
Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our feet;
Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
Our shadows danced,
Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.
Across the lake the skaters
Flew to and fro,
With sharp turns weaving
A frail invisible net.
In ecstasy the earth
Drank the silver sunlight;
In ecstasy the skaters
Drank the wine of speed;
In ecstasy we laughed
Drinking the wine of love.
Had not the music of our joy
Sounded its highest note?
But no,
For suddenly, with lifted eyes you said,
"Oh, look!"
There, on the black bough of a snow flecked maple,
Fearless and bright as our love,
A blue jay cocked his crest!
Oh who can tell the range of joy
Or set the bounds of beauty?

A WINTER NIGHT
My window-pane is starred with frost,
  The world is bitter cold tonight,
The moon is cruel, and the wind
  Is like a two-edged sword to smite.

God pity all the homeless ones,
  The beggars pacing to and fro,
God pity all the poor tonight
  Who walk the lamp-lit streets of snow.

My room is like a bit of June,
  Warm and close-curtained, fold on fold,
But somewhere, like a homeless child,
  My heart is crying in the cold.

FEBRUARY TWILIGHT
I stood beside a hill
  Smooth with new-laid snow,
A single star looked out
  From the cold evening glow.

There was no other creature
  That saw what I could see--
I stood and watched the evening star
  As long as it watched me.


LET IT BE FORGOTTEN
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
  Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,
Let it be forgotten for ever and ever
  Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
  Long, and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
  In a long forgotten snow. 

It [Sara’s poetry] transmuted the everyday world in which she lived into a shimmer of cool, glittery imagery and warm, intense feeling. She had the art of drawing a seemingly artless beauty out of the simple things– such as a walk in Central Park… on a windy day. — From The Collected Poems of Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale was born in late summer of 1884 in St. Louis, MO, as the youngest child of middle-aged, prosperous, doting parents. She wrote seven books of poetry in her lifetime. Her poems are short and simple and seem quite conventional yet with a uniqueness that can be a pleasant surprise. Many of her poems are word pictures of a moment that connects to a feeling. She did not write about religion, yet had a life-long admiration for Christina Rosetti. Ms. Teasdale was married to Ernst Filsinger from 1914-1929, which ended in divorce. She won the Pulitzer prize for poetry in 1917. She died of suicide on January 29, 1933.

So there you are for some lovely winter imagery to fuel your imagination and romanticize your day. I hope you enjoyed these poems. Here is one more:

THE COIN
Into my heart's treasurey
I slipped a coin
That time cannot take 
Nor a thief purloin.
Oh, better than the minting
Of a gold-crowned king
Is the safe-kept memory 
Of a lovely thing. 

–Liz

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