Wild Asters

Sara Teasdale

In the spring I asked the daisies
 If his words were true,
And the clever, clear-eyed daisies
 Always knew.

Now the fields are brown and barren,
 Bitter autumn blows,
And of all the stupid asters
 Not one knows.

Next 10 Poems

• Sara Teasdale : Winter Dusk
• Sara Teasdale : Winter Stars
• Sara Teasdale : Wisdom
• Sara Teasdale : Wood Song
• Sara Teasdale : Young Love
• Sara Teasdale : Youth And The Pilgrim
• Alfred Lord Tennyson : A Farewell
• Alfred Lord Tennyson : After-thought
• Alfred Lord Tennyson : All Things Will Die
• Alfred Lord Tennyson : Amphion

Previous 10 Poems

• Sara Teasdale : White Fog
• Sara Teasdale : While I May
• Sara Teasdale : When Love Was Born
• Sara Teasdale : When Love Goes
• Sara Teasdale : What Do I Care?
• Sara Teasdale : Water Lilies
• Sara Teasdale : Vox Corporis
• Sara Teasdale : Villa Serbelloni, Bellaggio
• Sara Teasdale : Union Square
• Sara Teasdale : Understanding