Muriel Stuart Poems
|42.||Christ At Carnival||1/1/2004|
|44.||Forgotten Dead, I Salute You||12/31/2002|
|46.||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|
|50.||In The Orchard||12/31/2002|
In The Orchard
'I thought you loved me.' 'No, it was only fun.'
'When we stood there, closer than all?' 'Well, the harvest moon
Was shining and queer in your hair, and it turned my head.'
'That made you?' 'Yes.' 'Just the moon and the light it made
Under the tree?' 'Well, your mouth, too.' 'Yes, my mouth?'
'And the quiet there that sang like the drum in the booth.
You shouldn't have danced like that.' 'Like what?' 'So close,
Whith your head turned up, and the flower in your hair, a rose
That smelt all warm.' 'I loved you. I thought you knew
I wouldn't have danced like that with any...
A STREET at night, a silent square
That mirth forbids;
Whose windows, with drawn lips and narrowed lids,
Resent the intruder's stare.
Where winds are cautious in their play,
Where only steals
Some meager brougham on its muffled wheels
Before the portals grey.