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IN days of ancient history Who were you? Tell me if you know. Between your kisses answer me To-night, Chicot.…
Muriel Stuart (1885, Norbury, South London - 1967) The daughter of a Scottish barrister, was a poet, particularly concerned with the topic of sexual politics, though she first wrote poems about World War I. She later gave up poetry writing; her last work was published in the 1930s. She was born Muriel Stuart Irwin. She was hailed by Hugh MacDiarmid as the best woman poet of the Scottish Renaissance although she was not Scottish, but English. Despite this, his comment led to her inclusion in many Scottish anthologies. Thomas Hardy described her poetry as "Superlatively good". Her most famous poem "In the Orchard" is entirely dialogs and in no kind of verse form, which makes it innovative for its time. She does use rhyme: a mixture of half-rhyme and rhyming couplets (a,b,a,b form) Other famous poems of hers are "The Seed Shop", "The Fools" and "Man and his Makers" Muriel also wrote a gardeninonbg book called Gardener's Nightcap (1938) which was later reprinted by Persephone Books:. She died on 18th December 1967.)
Muriel Stuart şiirleri
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WHEN, on an empty night in later years Thou ponderest over sorrowful sweet things, While troubling with cold hands the muted strings Of Memory's lute now silent in thine ears,…
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ANDROMEDA. Chained to the years by the measureless wrong of man, Here I hang, here I suffer, here I cry,…
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'The lord appeared in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush and behold, the bush burned with fire and the bush was not consumed.'-EXODOUS iii.2. When to your virgin heart, u…
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There shall be a song for both of us that day Though fools say you have long outlived your songs, And when, perhaps, because your hair is grey, You go unsung, to whom all praise be…
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COME here, rekindle the old fire, This last night leave no lamp unlit! In later days we twain shall sit, Remembering the joys of it,--…
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FAREWELL is said! Yea, but I cannot take All that my Greeting gave. In you hath Hope her doom and Joy her grave; Still you go crowned with old imaginings,…
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Round them a fierce, wide, crazy noon Heaves with crushed lips and glowing sides Against the huge and drowsy sun. Beneath them turn the glittering tides…
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CHANGE shall accustom me in after years To kingdom's builded on life's overthrow; Onward with other poets I shall go, Unpraised of thee. though praised of all my peers,…
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THE hand of carnival was at my door, I listened to its knocking, and sped down: Faith was forgotten, Duty led no more: I heard a wonton revelry in the town;…
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Did he forget? . . . I do not remember, All I had of him once I still have to-day; He was lovely to me as the word, 'amber,' As the taste of honey and the smell of hay.…
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Are you my songs, importunate of praise? Be still, remember for your comforting That sweeter birds have had less leave to sing Before men piped them from their lonely ways.…
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ASK not my pardon! For if one hath need Once to forgive the god that he hath raised, No further creed Can that god give; but 'neath the soul who praised…
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Dawn has flashed up the startled skies, Night has gone out beneath the hill Many sweet times; before our eyes Dawn makes and unmakes about us still…
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THIS POEM, DEDICATED TO HIS MOTHER. To twilight heads comes Death as comes a friend. As with the gentle fading of the year…
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