Midsummer Night

Sara TeasdaleContemplative

Midsummer night without a moon, but the stars In a serene bright multitude were there, Even the shyest ones, even the faint motes shining Low in the north, under the Little Bear. When I have said, “This tragic farce I play in Has neither dignity, delight nor end,” The holy night draws all its stars around me, I am ashamed, I have betrayed my Friend.

Sara Teasdale

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