I shall gather myself into my self again, I shall take my scattered selves and make them one. I shall fuse them into a polished crystal ball Where I can see the moon and the flashing sun. I Shall sit like a sibyl, hour after hour intent. Watching the future come and the present go And the little shifting pictures of people rushing In tiny self-importance to and fro.
Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Dreams Of My Heart