Stevie Smith

Stevie Smith

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Florence Margaret Smith, known as Stevie Smith (20 September 1902 – 7 March 1971), was an English poet and novelist. She was awarded the Cholmondeley Award for Poets and won the Queen's Gold Medal for poetry. A play Stevie by Hugh Whitemore, based on her life, was adapted into a film starring Glenda Jackson.
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Conviction III

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The shadow was so black,
I thought it was a cat,
But once in to itI knew
No more
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Our Bog is Dood

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Our Bog is dood, our Bog is dood,
They lisped in accents mild,
But when I asked them to
They grew a little wild
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Conviction I

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Christ died for God and
Upon the crucifixion
For God a spoken
For me a
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Never Again

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Never again will I
And wring my
And beat my head against the
Me nolentem fata
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Deeply Morbid

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Deeply morbid deeply morbid was the girl who typed the
Always out of office hours running with her social
But when daylight and the darkness of the office closed about
Not for this ah not for this her office colleagues came to doubt
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Tenuous and Precarious

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Tenuous and
Were my guardians,
Precarious and Tenuous,
Two Romans
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Infelice

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Walking swiftly with a dreadful duchess,
He smiled too briefly, his face was pale as sand,
He jumped into a taxi when he saw me coming,
Leaving my alone with a private meaning,
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Tender Only To One

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Tender only to one Tender and true The petals swing To my fingering Is it you, or you, or you
Tender only to one I do not know his name And the friends who fall To the petals’ call May think my love to blame
Tender only to one This petal...
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Conviction IV

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I like to get off with people,
I like to lie in their armsI like to be held and lightly kissed,
Safe from all alarms
I like to laugh and be
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Do Not!

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Do not despair of man, and do not scold him,
Who are you that you should so lightly hold him
Are you not also a man, and in your heart Are there not warlike thoughts and fear and smart
Are you not also afraid and in fear cruel,
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The Reason

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My life is vile          I hate it so          I'll wait awhile          And then I'll go
Why wait at all
Hope springs alive,          Good may befall          I yet may thrive
It is because I can't make up my
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Happiness

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Happiness is silent, or speaks equivocally for friends,
Grief is explicit and her song never ends,
Happiness is like England, and will not state a case,
Grief, like Guilt, rushes in and talks apace
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Pretty

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Why is the word pretty so underrated
In November the leaf is pretty when it falls The stream grows deep in the woods after rain And in the pretty pool the pike stalks He stalks his prey, and this is pretty too,
The prey escapes with an u...
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To the Tune of the Coventry Carol

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The nearly
And yet not
In love is wholly
And every
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Was He Married

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Was he married, did he try To support as he grew less fond of them Wife and family
No,
He never suffered such a blow
Did he feel pointless, feeble and distrait,
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Sunt Leones

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The lions who ate the Christians on the sands of the
By indulging native appetites played was now been seen
Not entirely negligible
In consolidating at the very
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