Rivers to the Sea
Sara Teasdale
    Part I:

    Poets' Corner Scripting
    © 2000, 2020 S.L. Spanoudis and
    All rights reserved worldwide.

    Transcribed for Poets' Corner
    July 2000 by S.L.Spanoudis

    [This 1915 work is believed to be in the public domain in the US. Please check local restrictions in other geographies.]

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Sara Teasdale


To Ernst


    Part V



      MIDNIGHT, and in the darkness not a sound,
      So, with hushed breathing, sleeps the autumn night;
      Only the white immortal stars shall know,
      Here in the house with the low-lintelled door,
      How, for the last time, I have lit the lamp.
      I think you are not wholly careless now,
      Walls that have sheltered me so many an hour,
      Bed that has brought me ecstasy and sleep,
      Floors that have borne me when a gale of joy
      Lifted my soul and made me half a god.
      Farewell! Across the threshold many feet
      Shall pass, but never Sappho's feet again.
      Girls shall come in whom love has made aware
      Of all their swaying beauty--they shall sing,
      But never Sappho's voice, like golden fire,
      Shall seek for heaven thru your echoing rafters.
      There shall be swallows bringing back the spring
      Over the long blue meadows of the sea,
      And south-wind playing on the reeds of rain,
      But never Sappho's whisper in the night,
      Never her love-cry when the lover comes.
      Farewell! I close the door and make it fast.

      The little street lies meek beneath the moon,
      Running, as rivers run, to meet the sea.
      I too go seaward and shall not return.
      Oh garlands on the doorposts that I pass,
      Woven of asters and of autumn leaves,
      I make a prayer for you: Cypris be kind,
      That every lover may be given love.
      I shall not hasten lest the paving stones
      Should echo with my sandals and awake
      Those who are warm beneath the cloak of sleep,
      Lest they should rise and see me and should say,
      "Whither goes Sappho lonely in the night?"
      Whither goes Sappho? Whither all men go,
      But they go driven, straining back with fear,
      And Sappho goes as lightly as a leaf
      Blown from brown autumn forests to the sea.

      Here on the rock Zeus lifted from the waves,
      I shall await the waking of the dawn,
      Lying beneath the weight of dark as one
      Lies breathless, till the lover shall awake.
      And with the sun the sea shall cover me--
      I shall be less than the dissolving foam
      Murmuring and melting on the ebbing tide;
      I shall be less than spindrift, less than shells;
      And yet I shall be greater than the gods,
      For destiny no more can bow my soul
      As rain bows down the watch-fires on the hills.
      Yes, if my soul escape it shall aspire
      To the white heaven as flame that has its will.
      I go not bitterly, not dumb with pain,
      Not broken by the ache of love--I go
      As one grown tired lies down and hopes to sleep.
      Yet they shall say: "It was for Cercolas;
      She died because she could not bear her love."
      They shall remember how we used to walk
      Here on the cliff beneath the oleanders
      In the long limpid twilight of the spring,
      Looking toward Lemnos, where the amber sky
      Was pierced with the faint arrow of a star.
      How should they know the wind of a new beauty
      Sweeping my soul had winnowed it with song?
      I have been glad tho' love should come or go,
      Happy as trees that find a wind to sway them,
      Happy again when it has left them rest.
      Others shall say, "Grave Dica wrought her death.
      She would not lift her lips to take a kiss,
      Or ever lift her eyes to take a smile.
      She was a pool the winter paves with ice
      That the wild hunter in the hills must leave
      With thirst unslaked in the brief southward sun."
      Ah Dica, it is not for thee I go;
      And not for Phaon, tho' his ship lifts sail
      Here in the windless harbor for the south.
      Oh, darkling deities that guard the Nile,
      Watch over one whose gods are far away.
      Egypt, be kind to him, his eyes are deep--
      Yet they are wrong who say it was for him.
      How should they know that Sappho lived and died
      Faithful to love, not faithful to the lover,
      Never transfused and lost in what she loved,
      Never so wholly loving nor at peace.
      I asked for something greater than I found,
      And every time that love has made me weep,
      I have rejoiced that love could be so strong;
      For I have stood apart and watched my soul
      Caught in the gust of passion, as a bird
      With baffled wings against the dusty whirlwind
      Struggles and frees itself to find the sky.
      It is not for a single god I go;
      I have grown weary of the winds of heaven.
      I will not be a reed to hold the sound
      Of whatsoever breath the gods may blow,
      Turning my torment into music for them.
      They gave me life; the gift was bountiful,
      I lived with the swift singing strength of fire,
      Seeking for beauty as a flame for fuel--
      Beauty in all things and in every hour.
      The gods have given life--I gave them song;
      The debt is paid and now I turn to go.

      The breath of dawn blows the stars out like lamps,
      There is a rim of silver on the sea,
      As one grown tired who hopes to sleep, I go.


      Oh Litis, little slave, why will you sleep?
      These long Egyptian noons bend down your head
      Bowed like the yarrow with a yellow bee.
      There, lift your eyes no man has ever kindled,
      Dark eyes that wait like faggots for the fire.
      See how the temple's solid square of shade
      Points north to Lesbos, and the splendid sea
      That you have never seen, oh evening-eyed.
      Yet have you never wondered what the Nile
      Is seeking always, restless and wild with spring
      And no less in the winter, seeking still?
      How shall I tell you? Can you think of fields
      Greater than Gods could till, more blue than night
      Sown over with the stars; and delicate
      With filmy nets of foam that come and go?
      It is more cruel and more compassionate
      Than harried earth. It takes with unconcern
      And quick forgetting, rapture of the rain
      And agony of thunder, the moon's white
      Soft-garmented virginity, and then
      The insatiable ardor of the sun.
      And me it took. But there is one more strong,
      Love, that came laughing from the elder seas,
      The Cyprian, the mother of the world;
      She gave me love who only asked for death--
      I who had seen much sorrow in men's eyes
      And in my own too sorrowful a fire.
      I was a sister of the stars, and yet
      Shaken with pain; sister of birds and yet
      The wings that bore my soul were very tired.
      I watched the careless spring too many times
      Light her green torches in a hungry wind;
      Too many times I watched them flare, and then
      Fall to forsaken embers in the autumn.
      And I was sick of all things--even song.
      In the dull autumn dawn I turned to death,
      Buried my living body in the sea,
      The strong cold sea that takes and does not give--
      But there is one more strong, the Cyprian.
      Litis, to wake from sleep and find your eyes
      Met in their first fresh upward gaze by love,
      Filled with love's happy shame from other eyes,
      Dazzled with tenderness and drowned in light
      As tho' you looked unthinking at the sun,
      Oh Litis, that is joy! But if you came
      Not from the sunny shallow pool of sleep,
      But from the sea of death, the strangling sea
      Of night and nothingness, and waked to find
      Love looking down upon you, glad and still,
      Strange and yet known forever, that is peace.
      So did he lean above me. Not a word
      He spoke; I only heard the morning sea

      Singing against his happy ship, the keen
      And straining joy of wind-awakened sails
      And songs of mariners, and in myself
      The precious pain of arms that held me fast.
      They warmed the cold sea out of all my blood;
      I slept, feeling his eyes above my sleep.
      There on the ship with wines and olives laden,
      Led by the stars to far invisible ports,
      Egypt and islands of the inner seas,
      Love came to me, and Cercolas was love.

      III (previously published in "Helen of Troy and Other Poems")

      The twilight's inner flame grows blue and deep,
      And in my Lesbos, over leagues of sea,
      The temples glimmer moon-wise in the trees.
      Twilight has veiled the little flower-face
      Here on my heart, but still the night is kind
      And leaves her warm sweet weight against my breast.
      Am I that Sappho who would run at dusk
      Along the surges creeping up the shore
      When tides came in to ease the hungry beach,
      And running, running till the night was black,
      Would fall forespent upon the chilly sand
      And quiver with the winds from off the sea?
      Ah quietly the shingle waits the tides
      Whose waves are stinging kisses, but to me
      Love brought no peace, nor darkness any rest.
      I crept and touched the foam with fevered hands
      And cried to Love, from whom the sea is sweet,
      >From whom the sea is bitterer than death.
      Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more
      To thee, God's daughter, powerful as God,
      It is that thou hast made my life too sweet
      To hold the added sweetness of a song.
      There is a quiet at the heart of love,
      And I have pierced the pain and come to peace
      I hold my peace, my Cleïs, on my heart;
      And softer than a little wild bird's wing
      Are kisses that she pours upon my mouth.
      Ah never any more when spring like fire
      Will flicker in the newly opened leaves,
      Shall I steal forth to seek for solitude
      Beyond the lure of light Alcaeus' lyre,
      Beyond the sob that stilled Erinna's voice.
      Ah, never with a throat that aches with song,
      Beneath the white uncaring sky of spring,
      Shall I go forth to hide awhile from Love
      The quiver and the crying of my heart.
      Still I remember how I strove to flee
      The love-note of the birds, and bowed my head
      To hurry faster, but upon the ground
      I saw two wingèd shadows side by side,
      And all the world's spring passion stifled me.
      Ah, Love there is no fleeing from thy might,
      No lonely place where thou hast never trod,
      No desert thou hast left uncarpeted
      With flowers that spring beneath thy perfect feet.
      In many guises didst thou come to me;
      I saw thee by the maidens while they danced,
      Phaon allured me with a look of thine,
      In Anactoria I knew thy grace,
      I looked at Cercolas and saw thine eyes;
      But never wholly, soul and body mine,
      Didst thou bid any love me as I loved.
      Now have I found the peace that fled from me;
      Close, close against my heart I hold my world.
      Ah, Love that made my life a Iyric cry,
      Ah, Love that tuned my lips to Iyres of thine,
      I taught the world thy music, now alone
      I sing for one who falls asleep to hear.

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