poetry

stars | sara teasdale

 

alone in the night
on a dark hill
with pines around me
spicy and still,

and a heaven full of stars
over my head,
white and topaz
and misty red;

myriads with beating
hearts of fire
that aeons
cannot vex or tire;

up the dome of heaven
like a great hill,
i watch them marching
stately and still,

and I know that I
am honored to be
witness
of so much majesty.

happy birthday, sara teasdale

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