Refuge

by Sara Teasdale

From my spirits gray defeat,
From my pulses flagging beat,
From my hopes that turned to sand
Sifting through my close-clenched hand,
From my own faults slavery,
If I can sing, I still am free.

For with my singing I can make
A refuge for my spirits sake,
A house of shining words, to be
My fragile immortality.

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