Lesbia Harford Poems
|161.||And Is Love Very Strong Where Honour Rules?||4/15/2010|
|162.||Body And Soul||4/15/2010|
|163.||The Two Swans||4/15/2010|
|164.||A Blouse Machinist||4/15/2010|
|165.||A Bronte Legend||4/15/2010|
|167.||Cherry Plum Blossom In An Old Tin Jug||4/15/2010|
|169.||A Strike Rhyme||4/15/2010|
|170.||Beauty And Terror||4/15/2010|
|172.||A Prayer To Saint Rosa||4/15/2010|
|174.||A Bunch Of Lilac And A Storm Of Hail||4/15/2010|
|177.||A Meaning Learnt||4/15/2010|
Comments about Lesbia Harford
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.
Emmie, Emmie Adams
Emmie, Emmie Adams,
With her insolent air,
Tied a little bit of rag
In her yellow hair.
When Lena, wondering,
Asked why it was there,
Emmie said she didn't know
And she didn't care.
I think Emmie Adams,
Though you are so fair,
That must be the devil's horn
In your yellow hair.