Rivers to the Sea

William Lyon Phelps, Sara Teasdale

Description

“Rivers to the Sea” is a 1915 collection of poetry by American lyric poet Sara Teasdale (1884–1933). Teasdale produced numerous volumes of poetry in her career, most of which were both well received critically and economically successful, and was the first person to be awarded the Pulitzer Price for a poetry collection in 1917. Her third poetry collection, “Rivers to the Sea” was a bestseller and was reprinted numerous times since its first publication. A fantastic collection of timeless poems not to be missed by poetry lovers of all ages. Contents include: “Spring Night”, “The Flight”, “New Love and Old”, “The Look”, “Spring”, “The Lighted Window”, “The Kiss”, “Swans”, “The Old Maid”, “From the Woolworth Tower”, “At Night”, “The Years”, “Peace”, “April”, “Come”, “Moods”, “April Song” and more. Other notable works by this author include: “Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems” (1907), “Helen of Troy and Other Poems” (1911), and “Barter” (1918). Ragged Hand is proudly publishing this brand-new collection of classic poetry complete with an introductory excerpt by William Lyon Phelps.

Sujets

• List of female poets

Informations

• Publié par: Read Books Ltd.
• Date de parution: 08 septembre 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528791250
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

RIVERS TO THE SEA
By
SARA TEASDALE
WITH AN INTRODUCTORY EXCERPT BY WILLIAM LYON PHELPS

First published in 1915



Copyright © 2020 Ragged Hand
This edition is published by Ragged Hand, an imprint of Read & Co.
This book is copyright and may not be reproduced or copied in any way without the express permission of the publisher in writing.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Read & Co. is part of Read Books Ltd. For more information visit www.readandcobooks.co.uk


To Ernst


Contents
S ARA TEASDALE
By William Lyon Phelps
PART I
SPRING NIGHT
THE FLIGHT
NEW LOVE AND OLD
THE LOOK
SPRING
THE LI GHTED WINDOW
THE KISS
SWANS
THE OLD MAID
FROM THE WOO LWORTH TOWER
AT NIGHT
THE YEARS
PEACE
APRIL
COME
MOODS
APRIL SONG
MAY DAY
CROWNED
TO A CA STILIAN SONG
BROADWAY
A WI NTER BLUEJAY
IN A RESTAURANT
JOY
IN A RAIL ROAD STATION
IN THE TRAIN
TO ONE AWAY
SONG
DEEP IN THE NIGHT
THE INDIA WHARF
I SH ALL NOT CARE
DESERT POOLS
LONGING
PITY
A FTER PARTING
ENOUGH
ALCHEMY
FEBRUARY
MORNING
MAY NIGHT
DUSK IN JUNE
LOVE-FREE
SUMMER NIGH T, RIVERSIDE
IN A SU BWAY STATION
AFTER LOVE
DO ORYARD ROSES
A PRAYER
PART II
I NDIAN SUMMER
THE SEA WIND
THE CLOUD
TH E POOR HOUSE
NEW YEAR'S DA WN— BROADWAY
THE STAR
DOCTORS
THE INN OF EARTH
IN THE CARP ENTER'S SHOP
THE CAR PENTER'S SON
THE MOTH ER OF A POET
IN MEMOR IAM F. O. S.
TWILIGHT
SW ALLOW FLIGHT
THOUGHTS
TO DICK, ON HIS SI XTH BIRTHDAY
TO ROSE
THE FOUNTAIN
THE ROSE
DREAMS
"I AM NOT YOURS "
PI ERROT'S SONG
NIGH T IN ARIZONA
DUSK IN WAR TIME
SPRING IN WAR TIME
WHILE I MAY
DEBT
FR OM THE NORTH
THE LIGHTS OF NEW YORK
SEA LONGING
THE RIVER
LEAVES
THE ANSWER
PART III
OV ER THE ROOFS
A CRY
CHANCE
IMMORTAL
AFTER DEATH
TESTAMENT
GIFTS
PART IV
FROM THE SEA
VIGNET TES OVERSEAS
PART V
SAPPHO




SARA TEASDALE
By William Lyon Phelps
Sara Teasdale (Mrs. Filsinger) was born at St. Louis (pronounced Lewis), on the eighth of August, 1884. Her first book appeared when she was twenty-three, and made an impression. In 1911 she published Helen of Troy, and Other Poems ; in 1915 a volume of original lyrics called Rivers to the Sea ; some of these were reprinted, together with new material, in Love Poems (1917), which also contained Songs out of Sorrow —verses that won the prize offered by the Poetry Society of America for the best unpublished work read at the meetings in 1916; and in 1918 she received the Columbia University Poetry Prize of five hundred dollars, for the best book produced by an Ameri can in 1917.
In spite of her youth and the slender amount of her production, Sara Teasdale has won her way to the front rank of living American poets. She is among the happy few who not only know what they wish to accomplish, but who succeed in the attempt. How many manuscripts she burns, I know not; but the comparatively small number of pages that reach the world are nearly fleckless. Her career is beginning, but her work shows a combination of strength and grace that many a master might envy. It would be an insult to call her poems "promising," for most of them exhibit a consummate control of the art of lyrical expression. Give her more years, more experience, wider range, richer content, her architecture may become as massive as it is fine. She thoroughly understands the manipulation of the material of poetry.
Although she gives us many beautiful pictures of nature, she is primarily a poet of love. White-hot passion without a trace of anything common or unclean; absolute surrender; whole-hearted devotion expressed in pure singing. Nothing is finer than this—to realize that the primal impulse is as strong as in the breast of a cave-woman, yet illumined by clear, high intelligence, and pouring out its feeling in a voice of gra cious charm.
An e xcerpt from The Advance of English Poetry in the Twentieth C entury, 1918


RIVERS TO THE SEA


PART I


SPRING NIGHT
THE park is filled with night and fog,
The veils are drawn about the world,
The drowsy lights along the paths
Are dim and pearled.

Gold and gleaming the empty streets,
Gold and gleaming the misty lake,
The mirrored lights like sunken swords,
Glimmer and shake.

Oh, is it not enough to be
Here with this beauty over me?
My throat should ache with praise, and I
Should kneel in joy beneath the sky.
Oh, beauty are you not enough?

Why am I crying after love
With youth, a singing voice and eyes
To take earth's wonder with surprise?
Why have I put off my pride,
Why am I unsatisfied,
I for whom the pensive night
Binds her cloudy hair with light,
I for whom all beauty burns
Like incense in a million urns?
Oh, beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love?


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 windy 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?


NEW LOVE AND OLD
IN my heart the old love
Struggled with the new;
It was ghostly waking
All night thru.

Dear things, kind things,
That my old love said,
Ranged themselves reproachfully
Round my bed.

But I could not heed them,
For I seemed to see
The eyes of my new love
Fixed on me.

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


THE LOOK
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.


SPRING
IN Central Park the lovers sit,
On every hilly path they stroll,
Each thinks his love is infinite,
And crowns his soul.

But we are cynical and wise,