Driftwood

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Driftwood
by Sara Teasdale


My forefathers gave me
     My spirit's shaken flame,
The shape of hands, the beat of heart,
     The letters of my name.

But it was my lovers,
     And not my sleeping sires,
Who gave the flame its changeful
     And iridescent fires;

As the driftwood burning
     Learned its jewelled blaze
From the sea's blue splendor
     Of colored nights and days.


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