To Eleonora Duse I

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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Oh beauty that is filled so full of tears, Where every passing anguish left its trace, I pray you grant to me this depth of grace: That I may see before it disappears, Blown through the gateway of our hopes and fears To death's insatiable last embrace, The glory and the sadness of your face, Its longing unappeased through all the years. No bitterness beneath your sorrow clings; Within the wild dark falling of your hair There lies a strength that ever soars and sings; Your mouth's mute weariness is not despair. Perhaps among us craven earth-born things God loves its silence better than a prayer.

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