Winter Dusk

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 I thank her that I was born.


The Yale Review is committed to publishing pieces from its archive as they originally appeared, without alterations to spelling, content, or style. Occasionally, errors creep in due to the digitization process; we work to correct these errors as we find them. You can email [email protected] with any you find.

Sara Teasdale (1884–1933) was an American poet. She was the first person to win the Poetry Society of America Prize, later renamed the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, for her 1917 poetry collection Love Songs.
Originally published:
October 1, 1918

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