Although critics marginalized Sara Teasdale (1884–1933) from early 20th-century American poetic canons, she enjoyed popularity during her lifetime. In 1918, she won the inaugural Columbia Poetry Prize, which was later renamed the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.

After her divorce in 1929, she became semi-invalid, depressed, and disillusioned, and committed suicide in 1933. 

Teasdale wrote seven poetry collections, including Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems; Helen of Troy and Other Poems; Love Song; Rivers to the Sea Flame and Shadow, Dark of the Moon, Stars To-Night and Strange Victory.

She has written some of the best anti-war poetry, through which I was introduced to her work. I like her musical language and evocative emotion. 

Sharing one of her poems, titled “After Love” -

There is no magic any more,

      We meet as other people do,

You work no miracle for me

      Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea—

      There is no splendor any more,

I have grown listless as the pool

      Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm

      And from the tide has found surcease,

It grows more bitter than the sea,

      For all its peace.