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1884–1933

Song Making

Sara Teasdale

My heart cried like a beaten child Ceaselessly all night long; I had to take my own cries And thread them into a song.

One was a cry at black midnight And one when the first cock crew — My heart was like a beaten child, But no one ever knew.

Life, you have put me in your debt And I must serve you long — But oh, the debt is terrible That must be paid in song.

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Song Making · Sara Teasdale · Poetry Cove