Love Songs

by Sara Teasdale

Love Songs is a collection of poetry written by Sara Teasdale, an American poet who lived from 1884 to 1933. The book features 32 poems that explore the theme of love, including the joy and pain that comes with it. Teasdale's writing is known for its simplicity and clarity, and her poems in Love Songs are no exception. The poems are written in free verse and are often short and concise, but they pack a powerful emotional punch. Some of the poems are introspective, exploring the speaker's own feelings and experiences of love, while others are more outward-looking, examining the nature of love itself. Throughout the collection, Teasdale's language is lyrical and evocative, painting vivid pictures of love and its many facets. Love Songs is a beautiful and timeless collection of poetry that will resonate with readers of all ages and backgrounds.1928. Teasdale's work has always been characterized by its simplicity and clarity, her use of classical forms, and her passionate and romantic subject matter. In 1918, she won the Columbia University Poetry Society Prize (which became the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry) and the Poetry Society of America Prize for Love Songs. She later committed suicide. In addition to new poems, this book contains lyrics taken from Rivers to the Sea, Helen of Troy and Other Poems, and one or two from an earlier volume. See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

Genres: Poetry, Classics, Romance, Fiction, Love

104 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1917

About the author

Sara Teasdale was an American lyrical poet. She was born Sara Trevor Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri, and after her marriage in 1914 she went by the name Sara Teasdale Filsinger.

Teasdale's first poem was published in Reedy's Mirror, a local newspaper, in 1907. Her first collection of poems, Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems, was published that same year.

Teasdale's second collection of poems, Helen of Troy and Other Poems, was published in 1911. It was well received by critics, who praised its lyrical mastery and romantic subject matter.

In the years 1911 to 1914, Teasdale was courted by several men, including poet Vachel Lindsay, who was absolutely in love with her but did not feel that he could provide enough money or stability to keep her satisfied. She chose instead to marry Ernst Filsinger, who had been an admirer of her poetry for a number of years, on December 19, 1914.

Teasdale's third poetry collection, Rivers to the Sea, was published in 1915 and was a best seller, being reprinted several times. A year later, in 1916 she moved to New York City with Filsinger, where they resided in an Upper West Side apartment on Central Park West.

In 1918, her poetry collection Love Songs (released 1917) won three awards: the Columbia University Poetry Society prize, the 1918 Pulitzer Prize for poetry and the annual prize of the Poetry Society of America.

Filsinger was away a lot on business which caused a lot of loneliness for Teasdale. In 1929, she moved interstate for three months, thereby satisfying the criteria to gain a divorce. She did not wish to inform Filsinger, and only did so at the insistence of her lawyers as the divorce was going through - Filsinger was shocked and surprised.

Post-divorce, Teasdale remained in New York City, living only two blocks away from her old home on Central Park West. She rekindled her friendship with Vachel Lindsay, who was by this time married with children.

In 1933, she committed suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. Her friend Vachel Lindsay had committed suicide two years earlier. She is interred in the Bellefontaine Cemetery in St. Louis.

-taken from: Wikipedia

Reviews

[Deepika · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars*

This was surprisingly bittersweet. Sara Teasdale's writing is straightforward in a way that reminds me of insta poets of today's time but it still has the beauty and feel of a classic. The poet's take on love is appealing in its innocence though it sometimes comes across as a bit sappy. Overall, the poems are beautiful, lyrical and refreshing. Also, a little unknown fact - this is the first book to have ever won a Pulitzer Prize for Poetry(how awesome is that?!).

A few of my favorites :

Riches
I have no riches but my thoughts,
Yet these are wealth enough for me;
My thoughts of you are golden coins
Stamped in the mint of memory;

And I must spend them all in song,
For thoughts, as well as gold, must be
Left on the hither side of death
To gain their immortality.”

The Look
“Stephen kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Stephen’s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin’s eyes
Haunts me night and day.”

The Ghost
“I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
But my heart was full of my new love's glory,
My eyes were laughing and unafraid.

I met one who had loved me madly
And told his love for all to hear --
But we talked of a thousand things together,
The past was buried too deep to fear.

I met the other, whose love was given
With never a kiss and scarcely a word -
Oh, it was then the terror took me
Of words unuttered that breathed and stirred.

Oh, love that lives its life with laughter
Or love that lives its life with tears
Can die - but love that is never spoken
Goes like a ghost through the winding years…

I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
My heart was full of my new love's glory, -
But my eyes were suddenly afraid.”

[Steven Godin · Rating 3 out of 5]

LOVE in my heart was a fresh tide flowing
Where the starlike sea gulls soar;
The sun was keen and the foam was blowing
High on the rocky shore.
But now in the dusk the tide is turning,
Lower the sea gulls soar,
And the waves that rose in resistless yearning
Are broken forevermore.

[Bonnie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sara Teasdale wrote Love Songs in 1917 and received 3 awards for it: the Columbia University Poetry Society prize, the 1918 Pulitzer Prize for poetry and the annual prize of the Poetry Society of America. It's a beautiful collection of poetry that I'm so thankful to have stumbled upon.

My absolute favorite:

"I Am Not Yours"

I am not yours, not lost in you, Not lost, although I long to be Lost as a candle lit at noon, Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still A spirit beautiful and bright, Yet I am I, who long to be Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love--put out My senses, leave me deaf and blind, Swept by the tempest of your love, A taper in a rushing wind.

[Becky · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sarah Teasdale was a woman who found unimaginable beauty in love, in sorrow, in nature, and in the city, while conversely understood how you could be trapped by all four at the same time. Her poetry drips with passionate imagery- cries in the night at being bound and lost are intermingled with brilliant expressions of first loves, old loves, and current loves. It’s incredibly moving to feel so understood by someone who lived over a century ago. I can tell that this little book of poems is going to contain some of my favorites for a long time to come.

Barter
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children's faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit's still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.

[Hon Lady Selene · Rating 5 out of 5]

To-night
The moon is a curving flower of gold, The sky is still and blue; The
moon was made for the sky to hold, And I for you.

Wow. Powerful stuff, going straight to my Favourites shelf, therefore I have reviewer's block. Sara Teasdale was born in 1884, but these poems could have been written yesterday. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1918.

I Would Live in Your Love

I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, Borne up by
each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes; I would
empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, I would beat with
your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.

Because

Oh, because you never tried To bow my will or break my pride, And
nothing of the cave-man made You want to keep me half afraid, Nor ever
with a conquering air You thought to draw me unaware -- Take me, for I
love you more Than I ever loved before.
And since the body's maidenhood Alone were neither rare nor good
Unless with it I gave to you A spirit still untrammelled, too, Take my
dreams and take my mind That were masterless as wind; And "Master!" I
shall say to you Since you never asked me to.

[Krista · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fluent, straightforward, constant, reflective. Sara Teasdale's poems croon and radiate passion.

“Spring Rain” and “The Flight” are my favorite poems in this book.

[Raquel (Silver Valkyrie Reads) · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5 stars. As always with poetry there were a few I didn't like or didn't 'get', but this book had a surprisingly high proportion of poems that I really liked.

[Putri · Rating 4 out of 5]

I've never knew who Sara Teasdale was until I found this book and started to read it.
Teasdale was an american poet and born in 1884.
This book was published in 1918, and this is a collection of her poems. This book won 3 awards.
Teasdale commited suicide on 1933.

One of my favorite poem:

New Love and Old

In my heart the old love
Struggled with the new;
It was ghostly waking
All night through.

Dear things, kind things,
That my old love said,
Ranged themselves reproachfully
Round my bed.

But I could not heed them,
For I seemed to see
The eyes of my new love
Fixed on me.

Old love, old love,
How can I be true?
Shall I be faithless to myself
Or to you?

[Abrar Alnaseri · Rating 5 out of 5]

This collection of poems made me fall in love with poetry all over again !
So lovely that i felt like i was dancing on my toes.
Some of the poems talked about heartbreak and they were like talking to each break my heart had!
Some of the poems talked about wisdom in love yet how insane a lover can be!
I loved the mix.. The words.. The fantastic images that were carried by sara's poetry.

Just perfect.

[James · Rating 5 out of 5]

I approached Sara Teasdale's "Love Poems" with an expectation of finding them stodgy, antiquated, out of date. I was so very wrong. Her words move me. Her emotions stir my own. My copy of this thin book is now laced with post-its denoting memorable passages and sentiments. A romantic, tender, and sensitive poet who still inspires.

[Shawn Thrasher · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have heard some stunningly beautiful choral music set to the poetry of Sara Teasdale. She gets a couple of extra stars from me for that. Almost all of these poems have a simple rhyme scheme. Maybe Dr. Seuss has ruined me on rhyme. Because whenever I read a poem that rhymes, I drift off to Whoville. Someone also wrote here that Sara Teasdale poetry sounds like something a lovesick high schooler would scribble into a notebook late at night when she is supposed to be asleep (I’m paraphrasing, majorly so). At one point, after reading “The Wanderer”, which I was really liking until I didn’t anymore, I noted that “Teasdale’s love poetry makes me both snort and wistful/nostalgic.” So it’s doing something, even when it’s sort of excruciating.


Once I got THAT into my head, I kept drifting off there as well. This also won the first Pulitzer Prize for poetry, in 1918. Slow year, I guess. Sara Teasdale committed suicide, which is tragic and awful; she’s the poster child for the tortured poet.

Clearly, I’m not a fan of her work as a whole, but when she makes a hit, it’s a home run, at least for me. There is drivel, drivel, drivel and then magic, all of sudden. “I Would Live in Your Love” is really, really, really amazingly powerful.

“I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,
  Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes;
  I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,
  I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul
    as it leads.”

Meaningfully, incredible poetry CAN rhyme and not be about sneetches or grinches, which is nice to know.

[Catherine · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’ve long considered myself to be a hopeless romantic. That said, I didn’t love these poems. It’s the first book of poetry I’ve read (since Shel Silverstein’s books lol), but her words just fell kind of flat, and her ‘love songs’ felt so so shallow. Like a teen girl fantasizing about faceless, nameless suitors one day sweeping her off her feet.
I guess I’ll have to keep looking for poetry that can *also* evoke a deeper, more passionate kind of love. I definitely need more experience reading books of poetry, regardless.

[Raven]

Love Songs is a collection that revels in liminal zones and catches like words in a breeze. Most of the poems are set in April, but not in a floriferous Spring of new beginnings--they're set in that end-of-winter Spring when you're filled with restlessness in the anxiety of beauty to come. These are poems about longing: for a kiss you never received, for loves that are never spoken, for feelings that weren't as good as the dreams of them. Recommended to those who thrive on plotting their loves (like the lyrics of Taylor Swift run through Emily Dickinson).

[Rachelle · Rating 5 out of 5]

I decided to start making my way through the Pulitzer Prize winners for novels and poetry, and this is the 1918 poetry winner (as listed on their site). The age does not show in any way other than the spelling of to-night. Her writing is simple, intelligent, lyrical, and thoughtful. A magnificent way to begin my journey!

[Dan · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5

[Dave · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sara Teasdale's poetry is full of passion and emotion, and it speaks to the reader even today, so long after it was first published. It is sad that the very same passion undoubtedly led to her suicide in early 1933. She wrote mainly of love, nature, and death, but of course "Love Songs" which was published in 1917 focused on love, though the other major themes are sometimes also there. It was her third major work (4th overall as "Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems" from 1907 is difficult to find, unfortunately, and was not a major publication).

"Love Songs" is an unusual collection, as many of the poems are from "Helen of Troy and other Poems" and "Rivers to the Sea". Section one is mostly republished poems from these earlier works (although some of the poems have slight changes), and section three is half republished works and half new works. Sections two and four of the book are entirely new poems. This doesn't subtract from the overall impact of the work though, and this is certainly a collection worth seeking out for those who love early 20th century poetry.

This work was recognized in 1918 by the Columbia University Poetry Society (an award which was to become the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry just two years later) which was sponsored by The Poetry Society of America. Love played a major role in several of the Pulitzer works that year, as it is a significant factor in Ernest Poole's "His Family" which won the first Pulitzer for Novel (later changed to Fiction), and Jesse Lynch Williams' comedy "Why Marry?" (a.k.a. "And So They Got Married") which won the first Pulitzer for Drama. Pulitzer had not made a provision for awarding works of Poetry, so the first couple of awards were given by grants from the Poetry Society of America.

Though probably not her best work, "Love Songs" is still well worth seeking out. From the introduction, which is in and of itself a poem, to "A November Night", it is full of passion, whether it be the passion of new love, on-going love, or the loss of love, Sara Teasdale paints incredible pictures with her words. It would not be a proper review without a couple of examples:

The Look (first published in "Rivers to the Sea")

Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.

Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.

To-night (first published in "Love Songs")

The moon is a curving flower of gold,
The sky is still and blue;
The moon was made for the sky to hold,
And I for you.

The moon is a flower without a stem,
The sky is luminous;
Eternity was made for them,
To-night for us.

I highly recommend "Love Songs", though I give this book only four-stars because her later works are even better.

[Bob · Rating 4 out of 5]

Years ago, I read There Will Come Soft Rains by Sara Teasdale. I've never claimed to enjoy poetry. I don't have the heart and soul of a poet. This results in my avoiding poetry. However, over the years, there have been dozens of poems that grabbed me, making a lifelong impression. Soft Rains is one of those poems. Interested, I pursued more poems written by Teasdale. Flame and Shadow is the anthology that contains Soft Rains. After reading it, I found that I enjoyed more of her poems than not. When finished, I found and secured Love Songs, written three years earlier than Flame and Shadow. I put Love Songs away for the future.

Last December, I spent some time reflecting on my current reading habits. I gave considerable thought to the genres I habitually neglect. Poetry sits at the top of that list. Call it a New Year's resolution, but I plan to read from my neglected genres. I browsed my Kindle library and came across Love Songs. Remembering a fondness for Sara Teasdale, I decided this book would be an early read for this new year. The anthology is short, and over the course of several hours, I read it twice, some poems several times, and a few many times more than that. Teasdale is one of the few poets I’ve encountered in my life who truly resonates with me. This anthology is short and well worth reading.

[Kathy Dou]

Born into a staunch Baptist family with a Puritan heritage, Sara Teasdale has long been deemed as the “sentimental poetess” whose poetry was regarded as demure, gentle, timid and quite different from her contemporary modernists. Naturally introspective, Sara Teasdale’s works explores the moods and thoughts of a woman who studies her own reactions and, like Edna Vincent Millay, she speaks to directly to a female audience about the failures and frustrations of conventional femininity. Her writing explores the dilemma of a traditional woman in a transitional time, a time when formerly conventional notions about women and love have not died but are being found inadequate.
Arriving at the height of WWI, Teasdale’s intimate, affective poetry in Love Songs was hailed as a refuge from the myriad uncertainties of the modernism experienced in The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (1915) by T. S, Eliot. Love Songs allowed them to recapture the “lightness,” “joy,” and“beauty” which had been so sorely missing. “To chance upon a book by Sara Teasdale,” they explained, “is to feel the thrill of one who, pushing through the heavy branches in a wood, stops suddenly to hear the song of a bird”. A 1917 winner of the Columbia University prize for poetry, which was to become the Pulitzer Prize in 1922, Teasdale’s Love Songs was a typical representation of her fresh, simple, musical style which dominated the nineteenth century.
Yet a close reading of this collection suggests that though most poems in it are conventional in terms of both form and content, there is, as can be seen in I Am Not Yours, a wish to break through into bolder experiment in both ways. Such experimental works, however, were not only withdrawn by herself, but also by some male critics of her time. Nevertheless, even though in a minority in terms of number, a study of these poems which hinted her wish to break through convention, as well as the ones she excluded as “too revealing”, suggested that even though stifled, Sara Teasdale did try to break through the shackles of tradition.

[Freckles · Rating 5 out of 5]

The Ghost

I WENT back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
But my heart was full of my new love's glory,
My eyes were laughing and unafraid.

I met one who had loved me madly
And told his love for all to hear --
But we talked of a thousand things together,
The past was buried too deep to fear.

I met the other, whose love was given
With never a kiss and scarcely a word --
Oh, it was then the terror took me
Of words unuttered that breathed and stirred.

Oh, love that lives its life with laughter
Or love that lives its life with tears
Can die -- but love that is never spoken
Goes like a ghost through the winding years. . . .

I went back to the clanging city,
I went back where my old loves stayed,
My heart was full of my new love's glory, --
But my eyes were suddenly afraid.

May Wind

I SAID, "I have shut my heart
As one shuts an open door,
That Love may starve therein
And trouble me no more."

But over the roofs there came
The wet new wind of May,
And a tune blew up from the curb
Where the street-pianos play.

My room was white with the sun
And Love cried out in me,
"I am strong, I will break your heart
Unless you set me free."

Wild Asters

IN the spring I asked the daisies
If his words were true,
And the clever, clear-eyed daisies
Always knew.

Now the fields are brown and barren,
Bitter autumn blows,
And of all the stupid asters
Not one knows.

[Shaimaa · Rating 5 out of 5]

A lonely tree, starred with dew
Shakes out her rain-drenched leaves
“Oh rain”, she calls at night, “shall I have faith in me or you?”
And in the vast silence, she wistfully kneels
...
I’m a chain of stars dandling from the sky
My face drowns deep in the tumultuous sea
Am I here of there by
Like a tide to the shore, swimming out of me?
...
The waters hold me tight in their darkened arms
I make my dance for thee
Glistening and twinkling like childish eyes
Have you ever noticed me?
...
The blossomless tree is melting in pain
Like fires put out with wind so strong
Wouldn’t you cease you ruthless rain?
Or why does death take this long?
...
Lost as a droplet in a flood
Lost as a snowflake under the sun
You have me all my love, flesh soul and blood
And I have none
...
My child is happy as a meadow full of light
Showered with my smiles - his head against my breast
Though his home is his mother’s heart
His soul soars up
On a snow-coated mountain crest
...
The tree and rain, the stars and sea
With all their quarrels put aside
Emblazoned with scarlet, they come to be
When sun glares out of hide

-Sh.A (5.02.2021; 16:50)

[Lynette Caulkins · Rating 1 out of 5]

Well. . . Seeing as this was awarded the Pulitzer, I expected something more. I was quite disappointed in all but the final 3 or 4 poems, which are really quite nice, but this collection seemed like I was reading the poetry of a love-angst-filled teenager who had a particularly mature command of language.

Teasdale was not a teen when this set was published, but was something like 35. As it was not her first collection, I doubt she sat on the poems from her youth before presenting them. I feel for the woman, because looking her up and reading about her seriously melodromatic relationships reveals that she actually must have lived her life stuck in adolescent-type angst before she killed herself after a soap-opera worthy leaving of her husband to pursue mistresshood with a married-with-kids former love interest. All before soaps ever came to be, even. That's a sad life, and it's clear where the pathos in her poetry came from.

[Dewi · Rating 3 out of 5]

“I said, "I have shut my heart
As one shuts an open door,
That Love may starve therein
And trouble me no more.”

“And Love cried out in me,
“I am strong, I will break your heart
Unless you set me free.”


-May Wind-


“Oh, love that lives its life with laughter
Or love that lives its life with tears
Can die—but love that is never spoken
Goes like a ghost through the winding years. . . .”

-Ghost-


“When I talk with other men
I always think of you—
Your words are keener than their words,
And they are gentler, too.
When I look at other men,
I wish your face were there,
With its gray eyes and dark skin
And tossed black hair.
When I think of other men,
Dreaming alone by day,
The thought of you like a strong wind
Blows the dreams away.”

- Other Men-

[Amanda · Rating 2 out of 5]

Not really fond of any of these poems, they're none I wish to even quote. As a result I'm not a particular fan of this part of Sara Teasdale's life - there's a quality about this work that seems very superficial - as if she was trying to convince herself of love (with what sounds like numerous individuals? most likely through-out her lifetime) that didn't really exist?

[Eric · Rating 5 out of 5]

I seem to recall there are different editions, one issued in 1917 and one in 1918. My perusal of the Delphi collected has now, 6/2022, reached Love Songs (1917), which I will compare to this which I read late in 2019 and believe is the 1918 edition? Edit (7/22): the preface to the edition contained in the Delphi Complete leaves it clear- 1918 there too.

[Saad Bin Faheem · Rating 5 out of 5]

“In the spring I asked the daisies
   If his words were true,
  And the clever, clear-eyed daisies
   Always knew.

  Now the fields are brown and barren,
   Bitter autumn blows,
  And of all the stupid asters
   Not one knows.”

♥️

[Katie · Rating 4 out of 5]

There were a few poems I didn't like, but not many. Overall I loved most of them!

[Reem Rafei · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of the greatest poems i've read!!
Spring spirit all over!

[Anne · Rating 4 out of 5]

Beautiful works penned by one of the great American lyric poets. What a shame that someone so gifted was such a tormented soul.

[Louise · Rating 2 out of 5]

2½ - I think I'm a little too old for her somewhat adolescent pathos

[K. Anna Kraft · Rating 3 out of 5]

I have arranged my takeaway thoughts on the poem "Love Songs" into a haiku:

"A thought springs to mind,
When love is penned so Purely,
'Damn, you must be young.'"