I have remembered beauty in the night, Against black silences I waked to see A shower of sunlight over Italy And green Ravello dreaming on her height; I have remembered music in the dark, The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach's, And running water singing on the rocks When once in English woods I heard a lark. But all remembered beauty is no more Than a vague prelude to the thought of you. You are the rarest soul I ever knew, Lover of beauty, knightliest and best; My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore, And when I think of you, I am at rest.
You may also enjoy the poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley, who also died a tragic death early in life, To a Skylark.
Return to the Sara Teasdale Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Madeira From The Sea