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O
ET me be in loving nice,
Dainty, fine, and o’er precise,
That I may charm my charmàd
As tho’ I felt a secret
To lose what never can be lost,—Her faith who still delights me most!
So shall I be more than true,
Ever in my ageing new.
So dull habit shall not
Wrongly call’d Fidelity.
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (23 September 1861 – 25 August 1907) was a British novelist and poet who also wrote essays and reviews.
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Good Friday in my Heart
OD AY in my heart Fear and affright My thoughts are the Disciples when they fled, My words the words that priest and soldier said, My deed the spear to desecrate the dead
Where a Roman Villa Stood Above Freiburg
On alien ground, breathing an alien air, A Roman stood, far from his ancient home, And gazing, murmured,Ah, the hills are fair, But not the hills of Rome
I ask of thee love nothing but relief
I ask of thee, love, nothing but relief Thou canst not bring the old days back again; For I was happy then, Not knowing heavenly joy, not knowing grief
Unwelcome
We were young, we were merry, we were very very wise, And the door stood open at our feast, When there passed us a woman with the West in her eyes, And a man with his back to the East
