Charlotte Mary Mew

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

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...

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,

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...

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...

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;

You would have scoffed if we had told you
Love made us feel, or so it was with me, like some great
Trying to hold and shelter you in its strong wing: — A gay little shadowy smile would have tossed us back such a solemn word,
And it ...

Three summer's since I chose a maid,
Too young may be - but more's to
At harvest time than bide and woo
When us was wed she turned

Toll no bell for me, dear Father dear Mother, Waste no sighs;
There are my sisters, there is my little brother Who plays in the place called Paradise,
Your children all, your children for ever; But I, so wild,
Your disgrace, with th...

Not yet will those measureless fields be green
Where only yesterday the wild sweet blood of wonderful youth was shed;
There is a grave whose earth must hold too long, too deep a stain,
Though for ever over it we may speak as proudly...

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,