sara teasdale

friday feast: guess who’s looking at you?

~ jama ~ 39 Comments

On this brisk and beautiful autumn day, a little feast for the eyes. Ladies, brace yourselves.

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THE LOOK
by Sara Teasdale

Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin’s eyes
Haunts me night and day.

*   *   *

I love this little gem by Sara Teasdale. It’s light, lyrical, flirty, and touches on the essence of romance. I am reminded of Charlotte Brontë, whose primary literary theme was unrequited love. The “what might have been’s” and the fantasies surrounding an idealized love often make for a better story with its inherent longing and suspense, setting the stage for a good old-fashioned chase.

The question now is, has anyone ever given you “the look”?

While you’re pondering that, let’s look some more at Mr. Firth looking at us. Put your bibs on to catch all the drool. 🙂

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friday feast: in search of beauty

~ jama ~ 36 Comments


photo by Lisa at TSS.

BARTER
by 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.
Life has loveliness to sell
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

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This classic poem is just what I needed today.

I want to focus on beauty, and believe it still exists in the world. Not just in nature, but in the actions of human beings.

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thought for the week

~ jama ~ 10 Comments

        

THERE WILL COME SOFT RAINS
by Sara Teasdale 

(War Time)

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.