Those Who Love
by Sara Teasdale
Those who love the most,
Do not talk of their love,
Deirdre, Iseult, Heloise,
In the fragrant gardens of heaven
Are silent, or speak if at all
Of fragile inconsequent things.
And a woman I used to know
Who loved one man from her youth,
Against the strength of the fates
Fighting in somber pride
Never spoke of this thing,
But hearing his name by chance,
A light would pass over her face.
Teasdale is so eloquent. The last line provides a stunning visual for the unseen aspect of love.
I know – agree – kind of yanks a bit on the gut, doesn’t it?
Oh Laura, you have NO idea how this has spoken to me tonight…. you are such a troublemaker for my lil’ heart! 🙂
I owe you an email, and I will not send you one, but a novel instead since we have such a catch-up to do. You’ve not been forgotten woman, I hope you are well and ruining your pal’s stock by reading all her bukes (as we say in the Northside of Dublin).
I am praying for you, know you are loved.
Sinead, I’ve missed you! Send me that novel SOON!
Wow! Thanks for sharing. What an incredible poem — very evocative.
Thanks for posting this.
I have been contemplating this for quite some time. Thank you again.
Always learning from Mary, who knew how to ponder the greatest secret in her heart.