A Poem for the Season

Dusk in Autumn

The moon is like a scimitar,
A little silver scimitar,
A-drifting down the sky.
And near beside it is a star,
A timid twinkling golden star,
That watches likes an eye.

And thro’ the nursery window-pane
The witches have a fire again,
Just like the ones we make,—
And now I know they’re having tea
I wish they’d give a cup to me,
With witches’ currant cake.

Sara Teasdale was born on August 8, 1884 in St. Louis. In 1918, she won the Columbia University Poetry Society Prize (which became the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry). Teasdale’s work has been characterized by its simplicity and clarity, her use of classical forms, and her passionate and romantic subject matter. Her later books trace her growing finesse and poetic subtlety.

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