Friday, August 08, 2008

PULITZER PRIZE WINNER: 1918 - Sara Teasdale

Only in Sleep
Sara Teasdale

Only in sleep I see their faces,
Children I played with when I was a child,
Louise comes back with her brown hair braided,
Annie with ringlets warm and wild.

Only in sleep Time is forgotten --
What may have come to them, who can know?
Yet we played last night as long ago,
And the doll-house stood at the turn of the stair.

The years had not sharpened their smooth round faces,
I met their eyes and found them mild --
Do they, too, dream of me, I wonder,
And for them am I too a child?


Collin said...

Teasdale is one of my favorites. Thanks for posting it, Nick. Hope you're doing well up that in Oh, Canada!

Brian Campbell said...

Fine poem. Thanks.