THE TUNE
I know a certain tune that my life plays;
Over and over I have heard it start
With all the wavering loveliness of viols,
And gain in swiftness like a runner’s heart.
It climbs and climbs; I watch it sway in climbing
High over time, high even over doubt.
It has all heaven to itself—it pauses,
And faltering blindly down the air, goes out.
High over time, high even over doubt.
It has all heaven to itself—it pauses,
And faltering blindly down the air, goes out.
Sara Teasdale — April 1924
