Noodling around on poetry websites just now, I came upon the work of Sara Teasdale - a new name to me. An American writer of the early 20th Century, she is particularly known for her love lyrics. Most of the pieces I glanced at were not really to my taste, but this one I did think rather good (though perhaps only because I am reeling from yet another thwarted romance in my own life?).
After Love
There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do;
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.
You were the wind and I the sea—
There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
Beside the shore.
But though the pool is safe from storm
And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
For all its peace.
Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
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