Poetry by Sara Teasdale.
 

From my spirit’s gray defeat,    
From my pulse’s flagging beat,    
From my hopes that turned to sand    
Sifting through my close-clenched hand,    
From my own fault’s slavery,
If I can sing, I still am free.    
 
For with my singing I can make    
A refuge for my spirit’s sake,    
A house of shining words, to be    
My fragile immortality.

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Published by

River Rock Music