Alice Meynell Poems
- Maternity One wept whose only child was dead, New-born, ten ...
- Renouncement I must not think of thee; and, tired yet ...
- My Heart Shall Be Thy Garden My heart shall be thy garden. ...
- A Letter From A Girl To Her Ow... Listen, and when thy ...
- Parted Farewell to one now silenced quite, Sent out of ...
- In Early Spring O Spring, I know thee! Seek for sweet ...
- The Shepherdess She walks-the lady of my delight- A ...
Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson Meynell was an English writer, editor, critic, and suffragist, now remembered mainly as a poet.
Meynell was born in Barnes, London, to Thomas James and Christiana (née Weller) Thompson. The family moved around England, Switzerland, and France, but she was brought up mostly in Italy, where a daughter of Thomas from his first marriage had settled. Her father was a friend of Charles Dickens.
Preludes (1875) was her first poetry collection, illustrated by her elder sister Elizabeth (the artist Lady Elizabeth Butler, 1850–1933, whose husband was Sir William Francis Butler). The work was warmly praised by Ruskin, ... more »
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Quotationsmore quotations »
''If there is a look of human eyes that tells of perpetual loneliness, so there is also the familiar look that is the sign of perpetual crowds.''Alice Meynell (1847-1922), British poet, essayist. "Solitude," Essays (1914).
''Let a man turn to his own childhoodno furtherif he will renew his sense of remoteness, and of the mystery of change.''Alice Meynell (1847-1922), British poet, essayist. "The Illusion of Historic Time," Essays (1914).
The true colour of life is the colour of the body, the colour of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest colour of the unpublished blood...Alice Meynell (1847-1922), British poet, essayist. "The True Colour of Life," Essays (1914).
''It is easy to replace man, and it will take no great time, when Nature has lapsed, to replace Nature.''Alice Meynell (1847-1922), British poet, essayist. "The True Colour of Life," Essays (1914).
One wept whose only child was dead,
New-born, ten years ago.
"Weep not; he is in bliss," they said.
She answered, "Even so,
"Ten years ago was born in pain
A child, not now forlorn.
But oh, ten years ago, in vain,
A mother, a mother was born."