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.
Why will you play Peep Bo
Now in, now out
The workroom window so?
That there are children here;
But they've no time
To play Peep Bo, my dear.