Stresa
Sara Teasdale
The moon grows out of the hills A yellow flower, The lake is a dreamy bride Who waits her hour. Beauty has filled my heart, It can hold no more, It is full, as the lake is full, From shore to shore.
Next 10 Poems
- Sara Teasdale : Summer Night, Riverside
- Sara Teasdale : Summer Storm
- Sara Teasdale : Sunset: St. Louis
- Sara Teasdale : Swallow Flight
- Sara Teasdale : Swans
- Sara Teasdale : Testament
- Sara Teasdale : The Answer
- Sara Teasdale : The Blind
- Sara Teasdale : The Broken Field
- Sara Teasdale : The Carpenter's Son
