#sara-teasdale — Public Fediverse posts

There Will Come Soft Rains

In 1950 Ray Bradbury wrote a short story called There Will Come Soft Rains. The story appears in a collection called The Martian Chronicles. The title comes from poem of the same title, written in 1918 as a response to the horrors of World War 1:

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools, singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

by Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

The Ray Bradbury story is set in the (then) distant future and describes, in a typically eery and unsettling way, the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust. One house, in Allendale Carlifornia, fully automated to provide for the comfort of its owners, carries on functioning after the owners are both vapourised by a nuclear blast. Beds continue to be made, meals prepared, floors cleaned, and dishes washed, by systems oblivious to the fact the owners are no more. The house recites to the ladyof the house one of her favoruite poems, There Will Come Soft Rains by Sara Teasdale. Then a fire starts by accident and the house burns to the ground.

I was reminded today that the date of the story (in the original version) is August 4, 2026. I looked for my copy of The Martian Chronicles when I got home but couldn’t find it. Here, however, are the opening few paragraphs:

The full text of the story can be found here (among a number of other places). It’s out of copyright.

“Spring Rain” by Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) was an American poet, celebrated for her works that explored themes such as love, beauty, nature, and mortality. Born in St. Louis, Missouri, she published her first collection of poems in 1907 as a member of “The Potters”—a group of young women authors. She quickly gained recognition for the clarity and simplicity of her writing. Notably, she won a Pullitzer prize in 1918 for the collection Love Songs. Sadly, her life was marked by severe personal struggles, including a lonely marriage, divorce, and declining health, ultimately leading to her tragic death by suicide. She is still remembered as an important voice of the early 20th-century American literature.

In this post we’ll get acquainted with her poem “Spring Rain”, first published in 1917. In many ways typical of her style of writing, the poem is simple yet deep, using imagery from the natural world to reflect on the poet’s emotions and memories. In the first stanza, the sounds of rain and thunder trigger a recollection of a past love; the rest of the poem takes us down the memory lane. You’ll notice that the poem itself is brief, just like a typical spring rain; and the weather described is stormy and intense—just like passionate young love.

I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.

I remembered a darkened doorway
Where we stood while the storm swept by,
Thunder gripping the earth
And lightning scrawled on the sky.

The passing motor busses swayed,
For the street was a river of rain,
Lashed into little golden waves
In the lamp light's stain.

With the wild spring rain and thunder
My heart was wild and gay;
Your eyes said more to me that night
Than your lips would ever say...

I thought I had forgotten,
But it all came back again
To-night with the first spring thunder
In a rush of rain.

RECOMMENDED RESOURCES

Love Songs by Sara Teasdale – free ebook, downloadable in various formats

Sara Teasdale’s biography – a Poetry Foundation page

COVER PHOTO CREDIT

Image by Levi Guzman via Unsplash

NOTES

I’m a freelance language tutor (English, Latin, Classical Greek), researcher, and a literary scholar currently based in Belgrade, Serbia.  

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Today's poem:

The Ruins of Paestum
- by Sara Teasdale

On lowlands where the temples lie
The marsh-grass mingles with the flowers,
Only the little songs of birds
Link the unbroken hours.

So in the end, above my heart
Once like the city wild and gay,
The slow white stars will pass by night,
The swift brown birds by day.

#paestum #poetry #SaraTeasdale #archaeology

‘Morning Song’ by Sara Teasdale

#poem #poetry #literature #sarateasdale

https://www.deadpoetsdaily.com/p/sara-teasdale-poem-morning-song

A little while when I am gone,
My life will live in music after me,
As spun foam lifted and borne on
After the wave is lost in the full sea.

A while these nights and days will burn
In song with the bright frailty of foam,
Living in light before they turn
Back to the nothingness that is their home.

-- Sara Teasdale, "A Little While"

#TodaysPoem #Poetry #SaraTeasdale

Leaves by Sara Teasdale

Letting Go – A Reflection on Sara Teasdale’s Poem, “Leaves”

“One by one, like leaves from a tree.
All my faiths have forsaken me;”

So begins Sara Teasdale’s quietly powerful poem Leaves. With just two lines, she opens a meditation on release. Not as an act of despair, but as an act of grace.

Teasdale often wrote at the edges of feeling, where the heart meets the natural world. In Leaves, she surrenders to change. Not passively, but with the wisdom of someone who has lived through many seasons. Each falling leaf becomes a metaphor for what we are asked to release in life: expectations, grief, youth, even love. And yet, there is no bitterness in her words. Only stillness. Only wind.

This poem reminds me that letting go doesn’t always need to be loud. There is a quiet strength in yielding, a power in choosing not to hold too tightly. In my own life, I have found this kind of gentle release in moments of transition. The closing of a chapter, the farewell to a place or person, the shift from one season of being to the next. Teasdale captures that threshold with exquisite simplicity.

https://youtu.be/XwJqMcbcI0o?si=a2iUC9kLjl0nCOW6

Leaves

by Sara Teasdale

One by one, like leaves from a tree,
All my faiths have forsaken me;
But the stars above my head
Burn in white and delicate red,
And beneath my feet the earth
Brings the sturdy grass to birth.
I who was content to be
But a silken-singing tree,
But a rustle of delight
In the wistful heart of night
I have lost the leaves that knew
Touch of rain and weight of dew.
Blinded by a leafy crown
I looked neither up nor down
But the little leaves that die
Have left me room to see the sky;
Now for the first time I know
Stars above and earth below

How Sara Teasdale Speaks to Our World Today

Though Sara Teasdale wrote in the early 20th century, her poetry carries an intimacy that feels strikingly relevant to our 21st-century lives. In an age of rapid change, digital noise, and constant performance, her voice is a balm, spare, honest, and deeply human.

Leaves, in particular, mirrors the quiet struggles of letting go of identities, relationships, dreams, or expectations. While the world often celebrates noise, speed, and achievement, Teasdale reminds us of the sacredness of stillness, the dignity of sorrow, and the strength it takes to soften.

Her work did not shy away from isolation, longing, or existential reflection. Those same emotions feel even more present today, in the midst of uncertainty, climate anxiety, and personal reinvention. In her words, we find a mirror for our contradictions: desire and solitude, hope and melancholy, beauty and transience.

Perhaps that is why she still feels so alive to us now. Teasdale gives us permission to linger — to feel deeply, to let things go at our own pace. In her gentleness, there is a kind of rebellion. And in her vulnerability, a timeless strength.

https://open.spotify.com/episode/0CKvkdFilyhKTQ2GJEJQk2?si=w-sJGjrGTFuzOAuXryVGvQ&utm_source=copy-link

My Takeaway

For me, this poem is an invitation to trust the seasons of our lives. We cannot stop the leaves from falling, but we can choose how we let them go. To release what no longer serves us is not weakness. It is wisdom.

And how fitting to reflect on this now, in October, the month when the air sharpens, the light softens, and the trees begin their quiet surrender. October has always been my favourite month, a time when endings and beginnings weave together. In Teasdale’s words, I hear not only farewell, but also the promise of renewal.

So today, I invite you to pause with her poem. Let it stir your own memories, your own moments of soft surrender. Perhaps you, too, are releasing something right now. If so, may the wind be kind.

Thank you for joining me in Rebecca’s Reading Room.

Rebecca

Today's poem:

Spring Night
- by Sara Teasdale

https://www.tumblr.com/ukdamo/779159183242166272/spring-night?source=share

#poetry #SaraTeasdale #love #lament #loneliness #disaffection #appreciation #beauty

Ce soir / tonight 21:39 (MEZ/gmt+2)

fce-lu.com/fan-downloads
fce-continuo.page.radio

#sarateasdale #sarateasdalepoem #sarateasdalequote #poetry #poetrylovers #poetrysongs #newpoetrypops #fcelucom #fcecontinuo

With deepest apologies to #SaraTeasdale:

"Broken things are loveliest,
Broken clouds when dusk is red,
Broken waves where a rainbow rides,
Broken words left half unsaid.

Broken things, broken things--
How quietly they comfort me,
For all I need is a little Scotch tape
To make them how they used to be!"

https://readalittlepoetry.com/2012/11/13/broken-things-by-sara-teasdale/

#ScotchTapeAMoviePlotOrPoem #HashtagGames

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
if mankind perished utterly

Ooteoote-serie Poetry in motion, 436: Sara Teasdale, There will come soft rains
https://bit.ly/PIM436-teasdale
#oorlog #pandemie #nademens #SaraTeasdale #poëzie #animatie