Posted by: W. E. Poplaski | December 7, 2009

POEM OF THE DAY: Dust

by Sara Teasdale (1884 – 1933).

Dust

When I went to look at what had long been hidden,
A jewel laid long ago in a secret place,
I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire—
But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.

I almost gave my life long ago for a thing
That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes—
It is strange how often a heart must be broken
Before the years can make it wise.

Notes:
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/658
http://www.bonniehamre.com/Personal/Sara3.htm

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