by: Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
- AM a cloud in the heaven's height,
- The stars are lit for my delight,
- Tireless and changeful, swift and free,
- I cast my shadow on hill and sea--
- But why do the pines on the mountain's crest
- Call to me always, "Rest, rest?"
- I throw my mantle over the moon
- And I blind the sun on his throne at noon,
- Nothing can tame me, nothing can bind,
- I am a child of the heartless wind--
- But oh the pines on the mountain's crest
- Whispering always, "Rest, rest."
POEMS BY SARA TEASDALE
"The Cloud" is reprinted
from Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1915. Ed. William
Stanley Braithwaite. New York: Gomme & Marshall, 1915.