To Mary: I sleep with Thee

 

To Mary: I Sleep with Thee

I sleep with thee, and wake with thee, 
And yet thou art not there; 
I fill my arms with thoughts of thee, 
And press the common air. 
Thy eyes are gazing upon mine 
When thou art out of sight; 
My lips are always touching thine 
At morning, noon, and night. 
I think and speak of other things 
To keep my mind at rest, 
But still to thee my memory clings 
Like love in woman's breast. 
I hide it from the world's wide eye 
And think and speak contrary, 
But soft the wind comes from the sky 
And whispers tales of Mary. 
The night-wind whispers in my ear, 
The moon shines on my face; 
The burden still of chilling fear 
I find in every place. 
The breeze is whispering in the bush, 
And the leaves fall from the tree, 
All sighing on, and will not hush, 
Some pleasant tales of thee. 


Song [Secret Love]

I hid my love when young while I
Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly
I hid my love to my despite
Till I could not bear to look at light
I dare not gaze upon her face
But left her memory in each place
Where ere I saw a wild flower lie
I kissed and bade my love goodbye

I met her in the greenest dells
Where dew drops pearl the wood bluebells
The lost breeze kissed her bright blue eye
The bee kissed and went singing by
A sunbeam found a passage there
A gold chain round her neck so fair
As secret as the wild bee's song
She lay there all the summer long

I hid my love in field and town
Till e'en the breeze would knock me down
The bees seemed singing ballads l'er
The fly's buss turned a Lion's roar
And even silence found a tongue
To haunt me all the summer long
The riddle nature could not prove
Was nothing else but secret love

John Clare

Popular posts from this blog

Caurapâñcâśikâ

Swan Song of the Thief       an adaptation of Bilhana’s Caurapâñcâśikâ     by  Dawn Corrigan   1. Still I remember her, the white magnolia of her body, the line of hair down her belly a stamen trembling beneath my hand. I’ve lost that body like a forgotten science.   2. Still I see her light increased by love— below the stars and moon, with face aglow, her body burned as though it might catch fire until I cooled her limbs and she could sleep.   3. And still if she would come to me again with love-smeared eyes and breasts that bent thin shoulders with their weight, I’d drink her mouth— the bee, that connoisseur of nature, at a bud.   4. Still I bring her back, wearied so with love she couldn’t lift her body from the bed, black hair against her cheeks, her guilty arms wound round my neck and left their scent on me.   5. Still I remember glittering eyes that d...
Read more

Maxim Gorky : Her Lover

n acquaintance of mine once told me the following story. When I was a student at Moscow I happened to live alongside one of those ladies whose repute is questionable. She was a Pole, and they called her Teresa. She was a tallish, powerfully-built brunette, with black, bushy eyebrows and a large coarse face as if carved out by a hatchet--the bestial gleam of her dark eyes, her thick bass voice, her cabman-like gait and her immense muscular vigour, worthy of a fishwife, inspired me with horror. I lived on the top flight and her garret was opposite to mine. I never left my door open when I knew her to be at home. But this, after all, was a very rare occurrence. Sometimes I chanced to meet her on the staircase or in the yard, and she would smile upon me with a smile which seemed to me to be sly and cynical. Occasionally, I saw her drunk, with bleary eyes, tousled hair, and a particularly hideous grin. On such occasions she would speak to me. "How d'ye do, Mr. Student!" and he...
Read more

THE FIRST BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QVEENE. Contayning THE LEGENDE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE RED CROSSE, OR OF HOLINESSE.

LO I the man, whose Muse whilome did maske, As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weeds, Am now enforst a far vnfitter taske, For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds, And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds; Whose prayses hauing slept in silence long, Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds To blazon broad emongst her learned throng: Fierce warres and faithfull loues shall moralize my song. Helpe then, ™ holy Virgin chiefe of nine, Thy weaker Nouice to performe thy will, Lay forth out of thine euerlasting scryne The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still, Of Faerie knights and fairest Tanaquill, Whom that most noble Briton Prince so long Sought through the world, and suffered so much ill, That I must rue his vndeserued wrong: O helpe thou my weake wit, and sharpen my dull tong. And thou most dreaded impe of highest Ioue, Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart At that good knight so cunningly didst r...
Read more