"When I am dead, and over me bright
April Shakes out her rain drenched hair,
Tho you should lean above me broken hearted,
I shall not care. For I shall have peace.
As leafey trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough.
And I shall be more silent and cold hearted
Than you are now."
Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)
American poet born in St. Louis. She wrote several volumes of
delicate and highly personal poetry, including Helen of Troy,
and Rivers to the Sea. An extraordinarily
sensitive, reclusive woman. Drowned herself at age 48, directing the
brunt of her suicide note toward a lover who left her.
Through birth and rebirth's endless round,
Seeking in vain, I hastened on,
To find who framed this edifice.
What misery! --birth incessantly!
O builder! I've discovered thee!
This fabric thou shalt ne'er rebuild!
Thy rafters all are broken now,
And pointed roof demolished lies!
This mind has demolition reached,
And seen the last of all desire!
-Bhudda, after achieving enlightenment.
"And now, O priests, I take my leave of you; all the elements
of being are transitory. Work out your salvation with diligence."
-Buddha's last words.
