Lesbia Harford Poems
A Meaning Learnt
I'm not his wife. I am his paramour:
His wayside love, picked up in journeying:
Rose of the hedgerows; fragrant, till he fling
Me down beside the ditch, a drooped thing
Some country boy may stick into his hat.
A paramour has no more use than that.
Just now, as warm day faded from our sight
Hosts of archangels, fleet
On lighting-winged feet
Passed by, all glimmering in the busy night
Sweet angels, bringing no blinding truth to birth
Give us no messages
From heavenly palaces;
Leave us our dark trees and our starlight earth.