In “Driftwood,” Sara Teasdale contrasts what she inherits from her ancestors with what she receives from love. Her forefathers gave her the basics: a restless spirit, her physical form, her heartbeat, even her name. Those are the raw materials of a self. But the poem suggests that love is what makes that inherited flame truly beautiful. Her lovers, not her sleeping ancestors, gave the fire its shifting, iridescent colors. The closing image is central: driftwood, once shaped and tossed by the sea, burns with a jewelled blaze learned from blue water and colored nights and days. The speaker feels grateful and quietly wonderstruck, not resentful of the past. The mood is intimate and luminous—like watching ordinary wood reveal hidden brilliance when set alight. It is a meditation on how experience and affection transform who we are.
Driftwood — Summary
My forefathers gave me My spirit's shaken flame, The shape of hands, the beat of heart, The letters of my name.
But it was my lovers, And not my sleeping sires, Who gave the flame its changeful And iridescent fires;
As the driftwood burning Learned its jewelled blaze From the sea's blue splendor Of colored nights and days.