Driftwood

Sara TeasdaleSara Teasdale

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My forefathers gave me
My spirit’s shaken flame,
The shape of hands, the beat of heart,
The letters of my name.But it was my lovers,
And not my sleeping sires,
Who gave the flame its changeful
And iridescent fires;As the driftwood burning
Learned its jewelled blaze
From the sea’s blue splendor
Of colored nights and days.
Sara Teasdale
About the poet

Sara Teasdale

1884 - 1933/Female/AmericanA lyric poet who wrote collections mostly about her loneliness.

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