Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like curves of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms to hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
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, I cannot help myself: I love you.
Your worldview aligns with mine on only a few points, and your verse lacks the complexity and depth and mastery of greatness. But when I read of "children's faces looking up / holding wonder like a cup", "music like curves of gold", "holy thoughts that star the night", "hours that go by on broken wings", and "the unchanging ache of things"...the eyes of my soul brighten. This was true when I first selected you back in seventh grade: a faded green hardcover volume that has since, to my dismay, vanished. And, although I am often ashamed to confess it, I cannot read you without pleasure, even now that my ear catches flaws in meter and rhyme, and my mind cringes at every redundity, and my soul has grown callused against certain cliches.
The primary function of poetry in my life is that of awakening me to the world. George Cabot Lodge writes that "when you are accustomed to anything, you are estranged from it." Sara Teasdale has freshened the paint on my perceptions many, many times. And so I will continue to name her among my favorite poets, despite the snarkiness of those who desire to let her pages slip silently from the canon.
And when I get a chance, I intend to donate a book of her poems to my library, so that others can discover in her pages the sighing loveliness that so entranced me.
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