Poem of the Week, by Sara Teasdale
The other night I dreamed I saw a girl in a treehouse, reading. A girl in a hay fort, reading. A girl in her room, reading about worlds she didn’t live in, worlds that weren’t hers but maybe someday could be.
All the girls were me. All were alone, none were lonely. None needed someone else to tell her what she could or couldn’t do with her life. Do unto others as you would not have them do unto you, Supreme Court injustices. I will disregard you. You’re afraid of that girl with a book because you should be.
The Crystal Gazer, by Sara Teasdale
I shall gather myself into myself again,
I shall take my scattered selves and make them one,
Fusing them into a polished crystal ball
Where I can see the moon and the flashing sun.
I shall sit like a sibyl, hour after hour intent,
Watching the future come and the present go,
And the little shifting pictures of people rushing
In restless self-importance to and fro.
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