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1884–1933

Winter Dusk

Sara Teasdale

I watch the great clear twilight Veiling the ice-bowed trees; Their branches tinkle faintly With crystal melodies.

The larches bend their silver Over the hush of snow; One star is lighted in the west, Two in the zenith glow.

For a moment I have forgotten Wars and women who mourn — I think of the mother who bore me And thank her that I was born.

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Winter Dusk · Sara Teasdale · Poetry Cove