Blue and White
BLUE is Our Lady’s colour,
White is Our Lord’s.
To-morrow I will wear a knot
Of blue and white cords,
That you may see it, where you ride
Among the flashing swords.
O banner, white and sunny blue,
With prayer I wove thee!
For love the white, for faith the heavenly hue,
And both for him, so tender-true,
Him that doth love me!
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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The Deserted House
There's no smoke in the chimney,
And the rain beats on the floor;
There's no glass in the window,
There's no wood in the door;
The heather grows behind the house,
And the sand lies before.
No hand hath trained the ivy,
The walls are grey and bare;
The boats upon the sea sail by,
Nor ever tarry there.
No beast of the field comes nigh,
Nor any bird of the air
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Larghetto
Grant me but a day, love,
But a day,
Ere I give my heart,
My heart away,
Ere I say the word
I'll ne'er unsay.
Is it earnest with me?
Is it play?
Did the world in arms
Cry to me, "Stay!"
Not a moment then
Would I delay.
Yet, for very love,
I say thee nay.
Ere I give my heart,
My heart away,
Grant me but a day, love,
But a day!
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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To Memory
Strange Power, I know not what thou art,
Murderer or mistress of my heart.
I know I'd rather meet the blow
Of my most unrelenting foe
Than live---as now I live---to be
Slain twenty times a day by thee.
Yet, when I would command thee hence,
Thou mockest at the vain pretence,
Murmuring in mine ear a song
Once loved, alas! forgotten long;
And on my brow I feel a kiss
That I would rather die than miss.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Come Home!
When wintry winds are no more heard,
And joy's in every bosom,
When summer sings in every bird,
And shines in every blossom,
When happy twilight hours are long,
Come home, my love, and think no wrong!
When berries gleam above the stream
And half the fields are yellow,
Come back to me, my joyous dream,
The world hath not thy fellow!
And I will make thee Queen among
The Queens of summer and of song.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Affection
The earth that made the rose,
She also is thy mother, and not I.
The flame wherewith thy maiden spirit glows
Was lighted at no hearth that I sit by.
I am as far below as heaven above thee.
Were I thine angel, more I could not love thee.
Bid me defend thee!
Thy danger over-human strength shall lend me,
A hand of iron and a heart of steel,
To strike, to wound, to slay, and not to feel.
But if you chide me,
I am a weak, defenceless child beside thee.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Where a Roman Villa Stood, Above Freiburg
On alien ground, breathing an alien air,
A Roman stood, far from his ancient home,
And gazing, murmured,
'Ah, the hills are fair,
But not the hills of Rome!'
Descendant of a race to Romans-kin,
Where the old son of Empire stood, I stand.
The self-same rocks fold the same valley in,
Untouched of human hand.
Over another shines the self-same star,
Another heart with nameless longing fills,
Crying aloud, 'How beautiful they are,
But not our English hills!'
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Good Friday in my Heart
GOOD FRIDAY in my heart! Fear and affright!
My thoughts are the Disciples when they fled,
My words the words that priest and soldier said,
My deed the spear to desecrate the dead.
And day, Thy death therein, is changed to night.
Then Easter in my heart sends up the sun.
My thoughts are Mary, when she turned to see.
My words are Peter, answering, ‘Lov’st thou Me?’
My deeds are all Thine own drawn close to Thee,
And night and day, since Thou dost rise, are one.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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The Train
A green eye-and a red-in the dark.
Thunder-smoke-and a spark.
It is there-it is here-flashed by.
Whither will the wild thing fly?
It is rushing, tearing thro’ the night,
Rending her gloom in its flight/
It shatters her silence with shrieks,
Where is it the wild thing seeks?
Alas! For it hurries away
Them that are fain to stay.
Hurrah! For it carries home
Lovers and friends that roam.
Where are you, Time and Space?
The world is a little place.
[...] Read more
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Street Lanterns
Country roads are yellow and brown.
We mend the roads in London town.
Never a hansom dare come nigh,
Never a cart goes rolling by.
An unwonted silence steals
In between the turning wheels.
Quickly ends the autumn day,
And the workman goes his way,
Leaving, midst the traffic rude,
One small isle of solitude,
Lit, throughout the lengthy night,
By the little lantern's light.
Jewels of the dark have we,
Brighter than the rustic's be.
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poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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