To Mary
I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,
And yet thou art not there;
I fill my arms with thoughts of thee,
And press the common air.
Thy eyes are gazing upon mine,
When thou art out of sight;
My lips are always touching thine,
At morning, noon, and night.
I think and speak of other things
To keep my mind at rest:
But still to thee my memory clings
Like love in woman's breast.
I hide it from the world's wide eye,
And think and speak contrary;
But soft the wind comes from the sky,
And whispers tales of Mary.
The night wind whispers in my ear,
The moons shines in my face;
A burden still of chilling fear
I find in every place.
The breeze is whispering in the bush,
And the dews fall from the tree,
All sighing on, and will not hush,
Some pleasant tales of thee.
John Clare
John Clare is one of my favourites and that poem is a lovely one. It is worth reading up about him. He fell in love with Mary then went a bit doolally and loved her all his life, even believing he married her at one point, when in fact they didn't ever meet again. A sad story, but it inspired a lot of great poetry.
Sorry I missed you folks on Saturday but well done for all your runs in the AW.
A Broken Appointment
You did not come,
And marching Time drew on, and wore me numb.
Yet less for loss of your dear presence there
Than that I thus found lacking in your make
That high compassion which can overbear
Reluctance for pure lovingkindness' sake
Grieved I, when, as the hope-hour stroked its sum,
You did not come.
You love not me,
And love alone can lend you loyalty;
-I know and knew it. But, unto the store
Of human deeds divine in all but name,
Was it not worth a little hour or more
To add yet this: Once you, a woman, came
To soothe a time-torn man; even though it be
You love not me.
Thomas Hardy
More good stuff on the thread, I like it all, the Haikus, Freckle's John Clare, Merryleg's Perspective (that reminded me of the London Marathon winner's story) and Alf's Hardy (so's to speak!).
Here is another one on spring:
Happy to Meet & Sorry to Part
When I dream of Edward Thomas playing the fiddle
a fiddle he made himself from Hawthorn wood
He's playing his own variation of Happy to Meet
& Sorry to Part, he's playing the prickle and nip
of May-bush music. When he asks if I know the words
to a song called 'Mrs Greenland's Hawthorn Bush'
he says it's a kind of catch, and then he says
a catch is taking hold of something in motion -
'John Davies was right,' he says, 'when he thought
that everything dances with everything else.'
And all this time he's playing the sosh
and sough of a whitethorn in blossom,
He's nibbling on bread and cheese,
he's taken hold of something forever in motion.
Charles Bennett
Last edited by Stevie; 27-04-2010 at 12:59 PM. Reason: typo
I've just been Anniversary Waltz results fps'er spotting - apart from Harry who'd have to have run with his legs tied together, I'd have beaten you all, based on my past glories of course..... even freckle. When's the next fps-er fell race then?