Blue Squills

How many million Aprils came
   Before I ever knew
How white a cherry bough could be,
   A bed of squills, how blue.

And many a dancing April
   When life is done with me,
Will lift the blue flame of the flower
   And the white flame of the tree.

Oh, burn me with your beauty, then,
   Oh, hurt me, tree and flower,
Lest in the end death try to take
   Even this glistening hour.

O shaken flowers, O shimmering trees,
   O sunlit white and blue,
Wound me, that I through endless sleep
   May bear the scar of you.

by Sara Teasdale

Comments (4)

Breathtaking. Life-changing. True.
indeed, it's a marvel that we are still alive and ticking against all the odds stacked against and all those terrible things waiting to happen...
Such a fine example of all the what if's in the world! Love it.
Wonderful, mind-expanding, heart-touching poem - but did they have pop in the Renaissance, David?