My window pane is broken
My window pane is broken
Just a bit
Where the small curtain doesn't
Cover it.
And in the afternoon
I like to lie
And watch the pepper tree
Against the sky.
Pink berries and blue sky
And leaves and sun
Are very fair to rest
One's eyes upon.
And my tired feet are resting
On the bed
And there's a pillow under
My tired head.
Parties and balls and books
I know are best
But when I've finished work
I like to rest.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
When I am articled
When I am articled
The Law decrees
I shall devote my time
To stating fees
And learning about Actions
Suits and Courts.
Then Deeds and Briefs and Grants
Must fill my thoughts.
While if a naughty
Little verse should find
Its way into a corner
Of my mind
I must not tell the chap
For whom I work.
He pays the penalty
If I should shirk
And take to writing books
And verse instead
Of 'hereinafter', 'duly',
'Viz', 'the said'.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
I am no mystic
I am no mystic. All the ways of God
Are dark to me.
I know not if he lived or if he died
In agony.
My every act has reference to man.
Some human need
Of this one, or of that, or of myself
Inspires the deed.
But when I hear the Angelus, I say
A Latin prayer
Hoping the dim incanted words may shine
Some way, somewhere.
Words and a will may work upon my mind
Till ethics turn
To that transcendent mystic love with which
The Seraphim burn.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Sometimes I think the happiest of love's moments
Sometimes I think the happiest of love's moments
Is the blest moment of release from loving.
The world once more is all one's own to model
Upon one's own and not another's pattern.
And each poor heart imprisoned by the other's
Is suddenly set free for splendid action.
For no two lovers are a single person
And lovers' union means a soul's suppression.
Oh, happy then the moment of love's passing
When those strong souls we sought to slay recover.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Deliverance Through Art
When I am making poetry I'm good
And happy then.
I live in a deep world of angelhood
Afar from men.
And all the great and bright and fiery troop
Kiss me agen
With love. Deathless Ideas! I have no need
Of girls' lips then.
Goodness and happiness and poetry,
I put them by.
I will not rush with great wings gloriously
Against the sky
While poor men sit in holes, unbeautiful,
Unsouled, and die:
Better let misery and pettiness
Make me their sty.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Street Scene—Little Lonsdale St.
I wish you'd seen that dirty little boy,
Finger at nose,
Peeking and ginking at some girls in rows
Seated on the high window-sills to rest.
One of the girls had hair as bright as corn.
And one was red.
And over their soft forms a glow was shed
From lamps new-lighted in the laundry there.
That boy, beneath them, wheeled a hand-cart full
Of cast-off busts
From sewing rooms. They looked like shells of lusts.
And all the girls around the windows laughed.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
After Rain
Today
I'd like to be a nun
And go and say
My rosary beneath the trees out there.
In this shy sun
The raindrops look like silver beads of prayer.
So blest
Am I, I'd like to tell
God and the rest
Of heaven-dwellers in the garden there
All that befell
Last week. Such gossip is as good as prayer.
Ah well!
I have, since I'm no nun,
No beads to tell,
And being happy must be all my prayer.
Yet 'twould be fun
To walk with God 'neath the wet trees out there.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Today I saw
Today I saw
A market cart going along the road,
High-piled and creaking with a sonsy load
Of cabbages.
The driver sat
Under a little tent himself had made
To give him shelter from the rain or shade
In summertime.
Such men as he,
Backed by the riches of a country side,
Should have kings' faces, full of jolly pride
In comeliness.
But he was tired
After a night's work under starlit skies,
And crouched like a poor slave, with anxious eyes
Turned citywards.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
When I was still a child
When I was still a child
I thought my love would be
Noble, truthful, brave,
And very kind to me.
Then all the novels said
That if my lover prove
No such man as this
He had to forfeit love.
Now I know life holds
Harder tasks in store.
If my lover fail
I must love him more.
Should he prove unkind,
What am I, that he
Squander soul and strength
Smoothing life for me?
Weak or false or cruel
Love must still be strong.
All my life I'll learn
How to love as long.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Contest
Our palm designed to grow
In deserts, sent roots seeking far and wide
Channels where waters flow.
And in the city found
Intricate pipings where the waters flow
Imprisoned underground.
Since iron strength was nought
Against the clever groping fingers, meant
To find the thing they sought
Our palm's condemned to go;
While on through streets and houses at men's will
Rivers of crystal flow.
Be sad awhile. And then
Exult in visible beauty overthrown
By the fair will of men.
poem by Lesbia Harford
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!