Frances Anne Kemble

(27 November 1809 - 15 January 1893 / London, England)

Parting - Poem by Frances Anne Kemble

The golden hinges of the year have turned—
Spring, and the summer, and the harvest time
Have come, and gone; and on the threshold stands
The withered Winter, stretching forth his hands
To take my rose from me;—which he will wear
On his bleak bosom, all the bitter months
While the earth and I remain disconsolate.
My rose!—with the soft vesture of her leaves,
Gathered all round the secrets of her heart
In crimson fragrant folds,—within her bower
Of fair fresh green, guarded with maiden thorns.
O withered Winter! keep my blossom safe!
Thou shalt not kiss her with thy blue cold lips,
Nor pinch her in thy bony grip,—nor drop
More than one tiny sparkling diamond,
From thy cold carcanet, upon her cheek:
But lay soft snow fur round her—and above
Her precious head, make thy skies blue and clear,
And set her in the sun;—O withered Winter!
Be tender of my rose, and harm her not.
Alas, my flower, farewell!


Comments about Parting by Frances Anne Kemble

  • Briony Nicholls (6/3/2016 5:37:00 PM)


    A moving, evocative & sentimental poem. (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
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  • (6/3/2016 8:17:00 AM)


    ......oh so beautiful, a lovely pleasure to enjoy ★ (Report) Reply

  • Edward Kofi Louis (6/3/2016 3:58:00 AM)


    With the soft vesture of her leaves.Thanks for sharing this lovely poem with us. (Report) Reply

    Stephen W (6/3/2016 7:20:00 AM)

    She died in 1893.

  • Mohammed Asim Nehal (6/3/2016 1:26:00 AM)


    Excellent poem, the essence of parting with nature is brilliantly written.10 (Report) Reply

  • Moira Cameron (6/3/2016 12:56:00 AM)


    That is exquisite! I loved the desperation and hope expressed in these words. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, September 6, 2010



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