To E, a Poem by Sara Teasdale

About a month ago I subscribed to a Poem a Day, and some days I actually take time to read the poem I receive (although more often than not I don’t take the time, perhaps I should).  I did recently read this one though, and I rather liked it. Such a beautiful expression of sudden – then sustained love. It made me think of Kelly, and the line about “joy hidden in your happy hair”  reminded me of how I loved to twist my fingers in his hair. He often grew it long enough in the back so that I could do that (really, it wasn’t a mullet, kids), and I did. I also loved when he would brush out my hair. He was very gentle and patient with the snarls my wayward curls would knot themselves into,  and it was so soothing to just relax and enjoy that experience. I miss those small moments with him. Some days, I just miss him more than usual. Today is one of those days, and that’s okay. I will hold him in my heart, secure in the knowledge that some day I will be with him again, and run my fingers through his hair.

Scan_20140609 (12)

Kelly with longish hair about 1997

But back to the poem, I just really like the imagery this poem brings to life. So today I share it here for you to enjoy too. And now, the poem —

To E

by Sara Teasdale

The door was opened and I saw you there
And for the first time heard you speak my name.
Then like the sun your sweetness overcame
My shy and shadowy mood; I was aware
That joy was hidden in your happy hair,
And that for you love held no hint of shame;
My eyes caught light from yours, within whose flame
Humor and passion have an equal share.

 

How many times since then have I not seen
Your great eyes widen when you talk of love,
And darken slowly with a fair desire;
How many time since then your soul has been
Clear to my gaze as curving skies above,
Wearing like them a raiment made of fire.

 

Info about the poem:

“To E” was published in The Little Review (Volume 1, Number 2) in April of 1914.

About the Poet:

Sara Teasdale was born on August 8, 1884, in St. Louis, Missouri. In 1918 she won the Pulitzer Prize for her book Love Songs (Macmillan, 1917). Teasdale died on January 29, 1933.

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