The wind is tossing the lilacs,_x000D_ _x000D_ The new leaves laugh in the sun,_x000D_ _x000D_ And the petals fall on the orchard wall,_x000D_ _x000D_ But for me the spring is done._x000D_ _x000D_ Beneath the apple blossoms_x000D_ _x000D_ I go a wintry way,_x000D_ _x000D_ For love that smiled in April_x000D_ _x000D_ Is false to me in May.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the sadness and disillusionment that can accompany lost love, contrasting the beauty of spring with personal sorrow.
In this quote, Sara Teasdale uses the imagery of nature, particularly springtime symbols like lilacs and apple blossoms, to express the transition from joy to heartbreak. While the world around her celebrates the vibrancy of spring, she feels a deep emotional winter, mourning a love that once brought her happiness but has now turned into a source of pain and disappointment.
In practice
During a poetry reading about love and loss, one might use this quote to illustrate the theme of fleeting happiness.
As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose, _x000D_ _x000D_ Float in the garden when no wind blows, _x000D_ _x000D_ Come to us, go from us, whence no one knows; _x000D_ _x000D_ So the old tunes float in my mind, _x000D_ _x000D_ And go from me leaving no trace behind, _x000D_ _x000D_ Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind.
From my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free. For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality.
I thought of you and how you love this beauty, And walking up the long beach all alone I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder As you and I once heard their monotone. Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me The cold and sparkling silver of the sea -- We two will pass through death and ages lengthen Before you hear that sound again with me.
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
For I shall learn from flower and leaf, That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief To living gold.
I don't particularly believe all love is doomed. But I guess, one is usually kinda suffering from some aborted love affair or association, rather than being at the peak of one. I think it's fairly obvious that a lot more suffering goes on in the name of love than the little happiness you can squeeze out of it.
But I always think that the best way to know God is to love many things.
Like first love, the heart of Russia will not forget you.
I have too much respect for people to try to control them. But they are estranged from love, afraid to reach out and touch one another. We're afraid to appear sentimental or speak in platitudes because people will say, 'What a jerk!' It takes courage in our culture to be a lover.
We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that has only happened once, and that's why every minute we spent together has been seared in my memory. I'll never forget a single moment of it.
The sky dreams of stars, the earth dreams of love.
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