Peace and Pools of Gold

My friend Peter gave me a slim little volume of poetry for Christmas, 101 Great American Poems. I’ve picked it up several times in the past month and read a few selections at random. Some are familiar, like Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” or Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” Some I wish were familiar, like Whitman’s stuff–how did I go through 18 years of public education without exposure to Whitman? I loved his poem “Miracles.” Anyway, I’ve stumbled across a few gems, and I read one last night that I just had to share. It’s by Sara Teasdale, and the last stanza just kills me.

Peace

Peace flows into me

As the tide to the pool by the shore;

It is mine forevermore,

It will not ebb like the sea.


I am the pool of blue

That worships the vivid sky;

My hopes were heaven-high,

They are all fulfilled in you.


I am the pool of gold

When sunset burns and dies–

You are my deepening skies;

Give me your stars to hold.

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