David Lewis Paget Poems

I cannot stay, I cannot go,
And where I am but you would know,
I walk where feet have walked before
But your feet linger at the shore.
...

This land of ancients grows on me
Like a soft moss, damp-oozed in time,
Sad breezes churn each soul, unfree,
And sweep me over, like some tide.
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Happiness is a Trojan Horse
That invades your surly gates,
It only comes at the best of times
And at other times, it waits,
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He looked like a common sailor
As he wandered up from the port,
Carried his swag on his shoulder,
Wore a cap of the jaunty sort,
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He vows to endure to be burned,
To be bound, to be beaten and killed,
The gladiatorial vow,
He lives by his sword and his skill.
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I was introduced to her mother
One Whit Sunday, down at the Hall,
They said that this was a ritual
And suffered by one and all,
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I met myself on a winding path
With the beach ten yards away,
Walking slowly towards me then
By the pounding breakers spray,
...

He had got on the train at New Street,
Found an empty carriage spare,
And settled down with the paper
With not one to disturb him there,
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I'd brought my woman to live with me
In a cottage by Elmsley Wood,
We lived on pure and simple fare
For my wages weren't that good,
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I’d never felt comfortable in that house
Not once, since we’d moved on in,
A rambling, derelict, barn of a house,
Three storeys of age-old sin.
...