Midsummer Night

by Sara Teasdale

Midsummer night without a moon, but the stars
  In a serene bright multitude were there,
Even the shyest ones, even the faint motes shining
  Low in the north, under the Little Bear.

When I have said, "This tragic farce I play in
  Has neither dignity, delight nor end,"
The holy night draws all its stars around me,
  I am ashamed, I have betrayed my Friend.

Monadnock Valley Press > Teasdale