Night

In my personal experience of poetry–which I admit is rather limited–it is the rare poem that can be both read and understood in a matter of moments.  Not so with “Night”, by the American poet Sara Teasdale (1884–1933).

sara-teasdale
As I write this in my little corner of the Northeast, there are still some small, scattered patches of snow on the ground.  They’ll be gone soon, though: spring is arriving.  As this poem assures us, something lovely is always close at hand.

Stars over snow,
And in the west a planet
Swinging below a star—
Look for a lovely thing and you will find it,
It is not far—
It never will be far.


Trivia tidbit: I saw this poem for the first time when a dear friend (since the days of Miss Cully’s 1st grade classroom back in 1967-68!) put it next to her senior picture in the high school yearbook.

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