Sara Teasdale’s “Places” treats memory as a form of restoration. The speaker recalls beloved landscapes the way music returns: they hush and heal her when she is exhausted. Each stanza paints a distinct scene—autumn oak woods near Saxton flaring crimson after frost, the blue-white dazzle of snowy hemlocks at Boonton, a violet evening near Cromwell with a wood-thrush singing and stars appearing. These places carry quiet longing, even desire, as when she thirsts for a valley spring “as for a kiss ungiven.” The final stanza turns from land to sea: midnight, drowsy waves, eerie phosphorescence, and a man’s hushed, insistent voice hour after hour. The mood is intimate, dreamy, and slightly melancholic—beautiful places and moments return not as facts, but as feelings.
Places — Summary
Places I love come back to me like music, Hush me and heal me when I am very tired; I see the oak woods at Saxton's flaming In a flare of crimson by the frost newly fired; And I am thirsty for the spring in the valley As for a kiss ungiven and long desired.
I know a bright world of snowy hills at Boonton, A blue and white dazzling light on everything one sees, The ice-covered branches of the hemlocks sparkle Bending low and tinkling in the sharp thin breeze, And iridescent crystals fall and crackle on the snow-crust With the winter sun drawing cold blue shadows from the trees.
Violet now, in veil on veil of evening The hills across from Cromwell grow dreamy and far; A wood-thrush is singing soft as a viol In the heart of the hollow where the dark pools are; The primrose has opened her pale yellow flowers And heaven is lighting star after star.
Places I love come back to me like music-- Mid-ocean, midnight, the waves buzz drowsily; In the ship's deep churning the eerie phosphorescence Is like the souls of people who were drowned at sea, And I can hear a man's voice, speaking, hushed, insistent, At midnight, in mid-ocean, hour on hour to me.