Here you will find the Poem Driftwood of poet 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.
