As those who know me very well know, I love poetry. I have memorized poetry since I was 12 or so. My mother memorized poetry, too. She was as likely to recite poetry to me as to read to me.
One of my favorite poets is Sara Teasdale, one of those tragic female poets who offs themselves before 50. She was the love of Vachel Lindsay, another tragic poet that committed suicide in true poetic fashion, drinking a bottle of lye.
In any case, one of the continuing themes I have always found in her work, and likely one of the reasons I identified with her, even then, was dominance and submission. I could name – and recite – at least a dozen poems of her that have a strong flavor of D/s.
The single poem of hers in which I see that dynamic so strongly is this one. I doubt anyone with an awareness would miss it in this poem, and it’s one that has always particularly appealed to submissive women.
Oh, because you never tried
To bow my will or break my pride,
And nothing of the cave-man made
You want to keep me half afraid,
Nor ever with a conquering air
You thought to draw me unaware —
Take me, for I love you more
Than I ever loved before.
And since the body’s maidenhood
Alone were neither rare nor good
Unless with it I gave to you
A spirit still untrammeled, too,
Take my dreams and take my mind
That were masterless as wind;
And “Master!” I shall say to you
Since you never asked me to.