Though I had lost my love
Though I had lost my love,
The hills could calm me.
Deep in a woodland grove
No loss could harm me.
But when I came to town,
And saw around me
Lovers pass up and down —
Then sorrow crowned me.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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He has a fairy wife
He has a fairy wife.
He does not know her.
She is the heart of the storm,
Of the clouds that lower.
And as the clouds are torn
Into rain and thunder,
She in her brightness tears
His heart asunder.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Mortal Poems
I think each year should bring
Little fresh songs
Like flowers in spring.
That they might deck the hours
For a brief while
And die like flowers.
Flower-like content to be
Sharers in man's
Mortality.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Inventory
We've a room
That we call home,
With a bed in it,
And a table
And some chairs,
A to Z in it.
There's a mirror,
And a safe,
And a lamp in it.
Were there more,
Our mighty love
Might get cramp in it.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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A Strike Rhyme
The strike's done.
The men won.
The ships sail the sea
To bring back
What we lack,
Coal, sugar, tea.
And I'm glad,
Though I had
Rather never use
Tea and spice
And what's nice
Than see the men lose.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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If you have loved a brave story
If you have loved a brave story
Tell it but rarely;
And, with due faith in its glory,
Render it barely.
Then must the listener, hearing
Your tale of wonder,
Let his own hoping and fearing
Tear him asunder.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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You, whom the grave cannot bind
You, whom the grave cannot bind,
Shall a song hold you?
Still you escape from the mesh
Spun to enfold you.
Your woven texture of flesh
Short time confined you.
Sib to the sun and the wind,
Shall a song bind you?
poem by Lesbia Harford
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If I had six white horses
If I had six white horses
And six sturdy friends,
I'd sell them into slavery,
If that would gain your ends.
I'd sell them into slavery,
If you so willed.
Thus were the hearts blood o' the world
By treason spilled.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Today they made a bonfire
Today they made a bonfire
Close to the cherry tree
And smoke like incense drifted
Through the white tracery.
I think the gardener really
Played a tremendous game,
Offering beauty homage
In soft blue smoke and flame.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Somebody brought in lilac
Somebody brought in lilac,
Lilac after rain.
Isn't it strange, belovéd of mine
You'll not see it again?
Lilac glad with the sun on it
Flagrant fair from birth,
Mourns in colour, belovéd of mine,
You laid in the earth.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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