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| Poetry by women |
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| A Farewell Remember me and smile, as smiling too, I have remembered things that went their way-- The dolls with which I grew too wise to play-- Or over-wise--kissed, as children do, And so dismissed them; yes, even as you Have done with this poor piece of painted clay-- Not wantonly, but wisely, shall we say? As one who, haply, tunes his heart anew. Only I wish her eyes may not be blue, The eyes of a new angel. Ah! she may Miss something that I found,--perhaps the clue To those long silences of yours, which grew Into one word. And should she not be gay, Poor lady! Well, she too must have her day. In The Fields Lord when I look at lovely things which pass, Under old trees the shadow of young leaves Dancing to please the wind along the grass, Or the gold stillness of the August sun on the August sheaves; Can I believe there is a heavenlier world than this? And if there is Will the heart of any everlasting thing Bring me these dreams that take my breath away? They come at evening with the home-flying rooks and the scent of hay, Over the fields. They come in spring. Charlotte Mew (died 1928) |