Sara Teasdale’s speaker imagines what it would take to feel truly safe inside herself. She wants her deepest self to stay fearless, detached, and untouched by love or hate, and not overwhelmed by the weight of human sorrow. Her ideal sanctuary would be so private that even prayer cannot enter it. But the wish is not triumphant; it sounds wistful, as if she knows how difficult such calm would be. The poem turns at the end toward a striking image: if she could protect that inner space and grow wiser, she might finally face God “with grave forgiving eyes.” That line shifts the mood from retreat to quiet resolution, suggesting she carries some hurt or disappointment with the divine—or with life’s pain—and longs to release it. The overall feeling is hushed, meditative, and a little melancholy, as if she is trying to make peace with a world that hurts too much.
The Sanctuary — Summary
If I could keep my innermost Me Fearless, aloof and free Of the least breath of love or hate, And not disconsolate At the sick load of sorrow laid on men; If I could keep a sanctuary there Free even of prayer, If I could do this, then, With quiet candor as I grew more wise I could look even at God with grave forgiving eyes.