Muriel Stuart Poems
|43.||Forgotten Dead, I Salute You||12/31/2002|
|45.||A Song For Old Love||4/12/2010|
|47.||At A Life's End||1/1/2004|
|48.||Madala Goes By The Orphanage||4/12/2010|
|49.||In The Orchard||12/31/2002|
Comments about Muriel Stuart
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.
In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.
Here in their safe and simple house of death,
Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;
Here I can blow a garden with my breath,
And in my hand a forest lies asleep.
IN days of ancient history
Who were you? Tell me if you know.
Between your kisses answer me
Were you a faun by Castaly
Tracking Urania or Clio?
Or a white boy in Arcady