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Rivers to the Sea: With an Introductory Excerpt by William Lyon Phelps
Rivers to the Sea: With an Introductory Excerpt by William Lyon Phelps
Rivers to the Sea: With an Introductory Excerpt by William Lyon Phelps
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Rivers to the Sea: With an Introductory Excerpt by William Lyon Phelps

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“Rivers to the Sea” is a 1915 collection of poetry by American lyric poet Sara Teasdale (1884–1933). Teasdale produced numerous volumes of poetry in her career, most of which were both well received critically and economically successful, and was the first person to be awarded the Pulitzer Price for a poetry collection in 1917. Her third poetry collection, “Rivers to the Sea” was a bestseller and was reprinted numerous times since its first publication. A fantastic collection of timeless poems not to be missed by poetry lovers of all ages. Contents include: “Spring Night”, “The Flight”, “New Love and Old”, “The Look”, “Spring”, “The Lighted Window”, “The Kiss”, “Swans”, “The Old Maid”, “From the Woolworth Tower”, “At Night”, “The Years”, “Peace”, “April”, “Come”, “Moods”, “April Song” and more. Other notable works by this author include: “Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems” (1907), “Helen of Troy and Other Poems” (1911), and “Barter” (1918). Ragged Hand is proudly publishing this brand-new collection of classic poetry complete with an introductory excerpt by William Lyon Phelps.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateSep 8, 2020
ISBN9781528791250
Rivers to the Sea: With an Introductory Excerpt by William Lyon Phelps
Author

Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) was an American poet. Born in St. Louis, Missouri, Teasdale suffered from poor health as a child before entering school at the age of ten. In 1904, after graduating from Hosmer Hall, Teasdale joined the group of female artists known as The Potters, who published The Potter’s Wheel, a monthly literary and visual arts magazine, from 1904 to 1907. With her first two collections—Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems (1907) and Helen of Troy and Other Poems (1911)—Teasdale earned a reputation as a gifted lyric poet from critics and readers alike. In 1916, following the publication of her bestselling Rivers to the Sea (1915), she moved to New York City with her husband Ernst Filsinger. There, she won the 1918 Pulitzer Prize for Love Songs (1917), her fourth collection. Frustrated with Filsinger’s prolonged absences while traveling for work, she divorced him in 1929 and moved to another apartment in the Upper West Side. Renewing her friendship with poet Vachel Lindsay, she continued to write and publish poems until her death by suicide in 1933.

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    Rivers to the Sea - Sara Teasdale

    SARA TEASDALE

    By William Lyon Phelps

    Sara Teasdale (Mrs. Filsinger) was born at St. Louis (pronounced Lewis), on the eighth of August, 1884. Her first book appeared when she was twenty-three, and made an impression. In 1911 she published Helen of Troy, and Other Poems; in 1915 a volume of original lyrics called Rivers to the Sea; some of these were reprinted, together with new material, in Love Poems (1917), which also contained Songs out of Sorrow—verses that won the prize offered by the Poetry Society of America for the best unpublished work read at the meetings in 1916; and in 1918 she received the Columbia University Poetry Prize of five hundred dollars, for the best book produced by an American in 1917.

    In spite of her youth and the slender amount of her production, Sara Teasdale has won her way to the front rank of living American poets. She is among the happy few who not only know what they wish to accomplish, but who succeed in the attempt. How many manuscripts she burns, I know not; but the comparatively small number of pages that reach the world are nearly fleckless. Her career is beginning, but her work shows a combination of strength and grace that many a master might envy. It would be an insult to call her poems promising, for most of them exhibit a consummate control of the art of lyrical expression. Give her more years, more experience, wider range, richer content, her architecture may become as massive as it is fine. She thoroughly understands the manipulation of the material of poetry.

    Although she gives us many beautiful pictures of nature, she is primarily a poet of love. White-hot passion without a trace of anything common or unclean; absolute surrender; whole-hearted devotion expressed in pure singing. Nothing is finer than this—to realize that the primal impulse is as strong as in the breast of a cave-woman, yet illumined by clear, high intelligence, and pouring out its feeling in a voice of gracious charm.

    An excerpt from

    The Advance of English Poetry in the Twentieth Century, 1918

    RIVERS TO THE SEA

    PART I

    SPRING NIGHT

    THE park is filled with night and fog,

    The veils are drawn about the world,

    The drowsy lights along the paths

    Are dim and pearled.

    Gold and gleaming the empty streets,

    Gold and gleaming the misty lake,

    The mirrored lights like sunken swords,

    Glimmer and shake.

    Oh, is it not enough to be

    Here with this beauty over me?

    My throat should ache with praise, and I

    Should kneel in joy beneath the sky.

    Oh, beauty are you not enough?

    Why am I crying after love

    With youth, a singing voice and eyes

    To take earth's wonder with surprise?

    Why have I put off my pride,

    Why am I unsatisfied,

    I for whom the pensive night

    Binds her cloudy hair with light,

    I for whom all beauty burns

    Like incense in a million urns?

    Oh, beauty, are you not enough?

    Why am I crying after love?

    THE FLIGHT

    LOOK back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,

    Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,

    Let our flight be far in sun or windy rain—

    But what if I heard my first love calling me again?

    Hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam,

    Take me far away to the hills that hide your home;

    Peace shall thatch the roof and love shall latch the door

    But what if I heard my first love calling me once more?

    NEW LOVE AND OLD

    IN my heart the old love

    Struggled with the new;

    It was ghostly waking

    All night

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