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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Sara Teasdale

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Spring Torrents

Sara Teasdale

From “Memories”

WILL it always be like this until I am dead?

Every spring must I bear it all again—

With the first red haze of the budding maple boughs,

The first sweet-smelling rain?

Oh, I am like a rock in the rising river

Where the flooded water breaks with a low call,

Like a rock that knows the cry of the waters

And can not answer at all.