Lesbia Harford Poems
|161.||And Is Love Very Strong Where Honour Rules?||4/15/2010|
|163.||All Through The Day At My Machine||4/15/2010|
|164.||All Knowledge . . .||4/15/2010|
|167.||A Strike Rhyme||4/15/2010|
|168.||A Sophistical Argument||4/15/2010|
|169.||A Prayer To Saint Rosa||4/15/2010|
|171.||A Meaning Learnt||4/15/2010|
|172.||A Lady And I Were Walking||4/15/2010|
|174.||A Bunch Of Lilac And A Storm Of Hail||4/15/2010|
|175.||A Bronte Legend||4/15/2010|
|176.||A Blouse Machinist||4/15/2010|
|177.||A Bad Snap||4/15/2010|
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.
Bother the slow hours
That hold and keep me
From the leafy bowers
You make more lovely than a storm of flowers.
If they let me go
I'd hasten to you
Where the waters flow
In among the shadows and the dreams we know.