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1884–1933

Dust

Sara Teasdale

When I went to look at what had long been hidden, A jewel laid long ago in a secret place, I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire — But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.

I almost gave my life long ago for a thing That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes — It is strange how often a heart must be broken Before the years can make it wise.

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Dust · Sara Teasdale · Poetry Cove