Sara Teasdale

A poem by Sara Teasdale

Across the dimly lighted room
The violin drew wefts of sound,
Airily they wove and wound
And glimmered gold against the gloom.

I watched the music turn to light,
But at the pausing of the bow,
The web was broken and the glow
Was drowned within the wave of night.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Sara Teasdale' by Sara Teasdale

comments powered by Disqus