From my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free.For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality.
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About Sara Teasdale
Sara Teasdale was a 19th-century American writer and poet. Sara Trevor Teasdale was an American lyric poet. She was born in St. Read more on Wikipedia →