“Strange Victory” is a thin, competent but uninteresting collection of short poems by Sara Teasdale, produced shortly before her suicide.
Moon, worn thin to the width of a quill,
In the dawn clouds flying,
How good to go, light into light, and still
Giving light, dying.
However, as this is neither her best selling “Rivers to the Sea” nor her Pulitzer Prizewinning “Love Songs”, perhaps one of those volumes would provide a better assessment of her worth as a poet.
Not recommended.
Form in Formless Times 
To paraphrase Bib Dylan:
Come self-appointed critics throughout the land,
And don’t criticize what you can’t understand.
The souls of your fellows are beyond your command,
Your old world is rapidly aging,
Please get out of the new world if you can’t lend your hand
For the times, they are a’changing.
I read your review. It is a measure of you, not of the book.
Perhaps, when you take that last step, the light of your indivduation merging into the light of the infinite self, your first word, like that of many, will be “Ohhhhh….
Just sayin’
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You may well be right. I have no opinion about the nature or reality of the universe.
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We are anonymous but not invisible. We are sub.intelligitur.
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