May I kiss you on this miserable piece of paper?

Child, Child
by Sara Teasdale

Child, child, love while you can
The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man,
Never fear though it break your heart –
Out of the wound new joy will start;
Only love proudly and gladly and well
Though love be heaven or love be hell.

Child, child, love while you may,
For life is short as a happy day;
Never fear the thing you feel –
Only by love is life made real;
Love, for the deadly sins are seven,
Only through love will you enter heaven.

Poetry is at least an elegance and, at most, a revelation.

This poem is worth 25 cents.

When I was younger, I found a book of poems at my grandparents’ garage sale with a garishly bright sticker on the front claiming that it’s monetary value was only a quarter. It was titled Love Poems by Sara Teasdale. To clarify, they weren’t all love poems.

I had never read much poetry before then, but that tiny crimson, cloth-bound book was my introduction. Teasdale is still my favorite poet. She writes with the same simple beauty that I try and put into my own poems; though if I’m being honest, she was my inspiration and probably the reason that we write similar poetry. And if I’m being even more honest, about half of my poems play off her ideas.

However, I have never tried to imitate this one in any way. Enjoy!

By: Sara Teasdale

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.

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