Mostrando resultados por autor "Sara Teasdale" en Todas las categorías

For everyone who loves, who ever loved, who searches for love, who suffers from love, who rejoices in love, these poems are for you. Are you in love? Have you ever been in love? Do you wish you were in love? Or perhaps you wish you weren't in love? This set of 70 poems is for you. It ranges in time from the classical Greece to the voices of the early 20th century.

Sara Teasdale - the winner of one of the earliest Pulitzer Prizes for poetry, winner of the Poetry Society of America prize, and other honors - believed passionately in the power and beauty of love. Yet in her own life, love was not enough; she died by her own hand after a long illness. The man she may have loved more than any other, the poet Vachel Lindsay, had killed himself two years earlier. Teasdale's poetry ranges from utter joy to deep loneliness.

Sara Teasdale - winner of a Pulitzer Prize, the Poetry Society of America prize, and other awards - lived for love and beauty and died by her own hand. Her poetry shows vividly what an intensely passionate woman she was, so much so that in some of her poetry she speaks of the impact of beauty in terms of physical pain, and the impact of love in terms of birth and death. She knew the world of her time; her poetry reacts to New York, to Chicago, to Paris; she knew the poets of her time, including a long and painful relationship with the poet Vachel Lindsay.

November - the 11th month of the year in the Gregorian calendar, when the land becomes bleaker, harsher but no less beautiful for that. For our poets, including Hood, Arnold, Melville, Alford, and Hardy, there is much to write and comment on.

February - the second month of the year in the Gregorian calendar brings not only the shortest month but, for lovers everywhere, Valentine's Day. On this and other themes, our poets, including Nesbit, Teasdale, and Coleridge, have much to say.

Keats. A short life but a legacy of works that few, if any, can rival. And of course his end was to be tragically Romantic. Keats was returning one night to his home in Hampstead when he coughed. He coughed a single drop of blue blood upon his hand and said, ‘I know the colour of that blood, it is arterial blood, it is my death warrant, I must die’. And so it was that tuberculosis took its slow, devastating hold.

LibriVox volunteers bring you 21 recordings of Grandfather's Love by Sara Teasdale. This was the Weekly Poetry project for August 13, 2023.-------- A whimsical look at an abstract gift as seen through a child's eyes. This Weekly Poem is taken from Helen of Troy, and Other Poems by Sara Teasdale (1911)

The year reaches its end with the Twelfth month. The landscape may be bleak, a sculpture of lines, monochrome dominates. The air carries the sounds of winter: wind, storms, silence. Our classic poets flex their lexicons with verse that describes all manner of events, sights and sounds. Among their ranks are Hardy, Shakespeare, Rossetti, Nesbit, Burns and a wealth of others, who, with their thoughts and desires express the world in lines of inky marvel.