Author Sara Teasdale I made you many and many a song, Yet never one told all you are -- It was as though a net of words Were flung to catch a star; It was as though I curved my hand And dipped sea-water eagerly, Only to find it lost the blue Dark splendor of the sea. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4 (3 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments