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It is my heart that makes my songs, not I.

Sara Teasdale

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Sara Teasdale
Age: 48 †
Born: 1884
Born: August 8
Died: 1933
Died: January 29
Poet
Writer
St. Louis
Missouri
Sara Teasdale Filsinger
Sara Trevor Teasdale
Makes
Heart
Love
Songs
Song

More quotes by Sara Teasdale

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One by one, like leaves from a tree, / All my faiths have forsaken me.
Sara Teasdale
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It will not hurt me when I am old, A running tide where moonlight burned Will not sting me like silver snakesThe years will make me sad and cold, It is the happy heart that breaks.
Sara Teasdale
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Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
Sara Teasdale
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Make songs for Death as you would sing to Love -But you will not assuage him. He aloneOf all the gods will take no gifts from men.
Sara Teasdale
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Love said, Wake still and think of me, Sleep, Close your eyes till break of day, But Dreams came by and smilingly Gave both to Love and Sleep their way.
Sara Teasdale
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But what do I care, for love will be over so soon, Let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by, For my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent, It is my heart that makes my songs, not I.
Sara Teasdale
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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.
Sara Teasdale
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Now at last I have come to see what life is, Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun, And the brave victories that seem so splendid Are never really won.
Sara Teasdale
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Though I know he loves me, tonight my heart is sad his kiss was not so wonderful as all the dreams I had.
Sara Teasdale
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I am alone, as though I stood On the highest peak of the tired gray world,About me only swirling snow, Above me, endless space unfurledWith earth hidden and heaven hidden, And only my own spirit's prideTo keep me from the peace of those Who are not lonely, having died.
Sara Teasdale
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From my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free. For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality.
Sara Teasdale
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And for a breath of ecstasy / Give all you have been, or could be.
Sara Teasdale
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Oh Earth, you gave me all I have, I love you, I love you, - oh what have IThat I can give you in return - Except my body after I die?
Sara Teasdale
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Love in my heart is a cry forever Lost as the swallow's flight, Seeking for you and never, never Stilled by the stars at night
Sara Teasdale
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When I can look life in the eyes, grown calm and very coldly wise, life will have given me the truth, and taken in exchange - my youth.
Sara Teasdale
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The world is tired, the year is old, The faded leaves are glad to die.
Sara Teasdale
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But oh, to him I loved Who loved me not at all,I owe the little open gate That led thru heaven's wall.
Sara Teasdale
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The leaves fall patiently Nothing remembers or grieves The river takes to the sea The yellow drift of leaves.
Sara Teasdale
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The spring is fresh and fearless And every leaf is new, The world is brimmed with moonlight, The lilac brimmed with dew. Here in the moving shadows I catch my breath and sing - My heart is fresh and fearless And over-brimmed with spring.
Sara Teasdale
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Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.
Sara Teasdale