A collection of my favorite subjects: favorite art, my own art, favorite poetry, my writing, vintage le Belle Epoque images and profiles, my passions of preventing abuse, and other features from blogger, Maureen Kavaney Tillman
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Dust by Sara Teasdale
When I went to look at what had long been hidden,
A jewel laid long ago in a secret place,
I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire—
But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.
I almost gave my life long ago for a thing
That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes—
It is strange how often a heart must be broken
Before the years can make it wise.