Charlotte Mary Mew

A purple blot against the dead white
In my friend's rooms, bathed in their vile pink light,
I had not noticed her
She snatched my eyes and threw them back to me:

We passed each other, turned and stopped for half an hour, then went our way,
I who make other women smile did not make you—But no man can move mountains in a day
So this hard thing is yet to do
But first I want your life:—before I ...

It is the clay what makes the earth stick to his spade;
He fills in holes like this year after year;
The others have gone; they were tired, and half
But I would rather be standing here;

Let us remember Spring will come
To the scorched, blackened woods, where the wounded
Wait with their old wise patience for the heavenly rain,
Sure of the sky: sure of the sea to send its healing breeze,

Tide be runnin' the great world over:'Twas only last June month I mind that
Was thinkin' the toss and the call in the breast of the
So everlastin' as the sea
Heer's the same little fishes that sputter an swim,

I so liked Spring last year Because you were here;- The thrushes too-Because it was these you so liked to hear- I so liked you
This year's a different thing,- I'll not think of you
But I'll like the Spring because it is simply spring As ...

My heart is lame with running after yours so
Such a long way,
Shall we walk slowly home, looking at all the things we
Perhaps to-day

Up here, with June, the sycamore throws Across the window a whispering screen; I shall miss the sycamore more I suppose,
Than anything else on this earth that is out in green
But I mean to go through the door without fear, Not caring muc...

Lord when I look at lovely things which pass, Under old trees the shadow of young
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 t...

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 yoy Have done with this poor piece of ...

His heart to me, was a place of palaces and pinnacles and shining towers;
I saw it then as we see things in dreams,—I do not remember how long I slept;
I remember the tress, and the high, white walls, and how the sun was always on the to...

Who thinks of June’s first rose today
Only some child, perhaps, with shining eyes and rough bright hair will reach it down
In a green sunny lane, to us almost as far
As are the fearless stars from these veiled lamps of town...