Lesbia Harford Poems
|161.||Up In My Room On My Unmade Bed||4/15/2010|
|162.||We Climbed That Hill,||4/15/2010|
|163.||Weekend At Mt. Dandenong||4/15/2010|
|164.||What Were The Good Of Stars If None Looked On Them||4/15/2010|
|165.||When Day Is Over||4/15/2010|
|166.||When I Am Articled||4/15/2010|
|167.||When I Get Up To Light The Fire,||4/15/2010|
|168.||When I Go Up To Work The Young Blue Sea||4/15/2010|
|169.||When I Was Still A Child||4/15/2010|
|170.||When My Lover Put The Sea Between Us||4/15/2010|
|171.||Whenever I Think Of You, You Are Alone||4/15/2010|
|173.||Why Does She Put Me To Many Indignities||4/15/2010|
|175.||You May Have Other Loves,||4/15/2010|
|176.||You Want A Lily||4/15/2010|
|177.||You, Whom The Grave Cannot Bind||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.