In The Orchard.

    "I thought you loved me."    "No, it was only fun."
    "When we stood there, closer than all?"    "Well, the harvest moon
    "Was shining and queer in your hair, and it turned my head."
    "That made you?"    "Yes."    "Just the moon and the light it made
    "Under the tree?"    "Well, your mouth, too."    "Yes, my mouth?"
    "And the quiet there that sang like the drum in the booth.
    "You shouldn't have danced like that."    "Like what?"    "So close,
    "With your head turned up, and the flower in your hair, a rose
    "That smelt all warm."    "I loved you.    I thought you knew
    "I wouldn't have danced like that with any but you."
    "I didn't know.    I thought you knew it was fun."
    "I thought it was love you meant."    "Well, it's done."    "Yes, it's done.
    "I've seen boys stone a blackbird, and watched them drown
    "A kitten ... it clawed at the reeds, and they pushed it down
    "Into the pool while it screamed.    Is that fun, too?"
    "Well, boys are like that ... Your brothers..."    "Yes, I know.
    "But you, so lovely and strong!    Not you!    Not you!"
    "They don't understand it's cruel.    It's only a game."
    "And are girls fun, too?"    "No, still in a way it's the same.
    "It's queer and lovely to have a girl..."    "Go on."
    "It makes you mad for a bit to feel she's your own,
    "And you laugh and kiss her, and maybe you give her a ring,
    "But it's only in fun."    "But I gave you everything."
    "Well, you shouldn't have done it.    You know what a fellow thinks
    "When a girl does that."    "Yes, he talks of her over his drinks
    "And calls her a - "    "Stop that now.    I thought you knew."
    "But it wasn't with anyone else.    It was only you."
    "How did I know?    I thought you wanted it too.
    "I thought you were like the rest.    Well, what's to be done?"
    "To be done?"    "Is it all right?"    "Yes."    "Sure?"    "Yes, but why?"
    "I don't know.    I thought you were going to cry.
    "You said you had something to tell me."    "Yes, I know.
    "It wasn't anything really ... I think I'll go."
    "Yes, it's late.    There's thunder about, a drop of rain
    "Fell on my hand in the dark.    I'll see you again
    "At the dance next week.    You're sure that everything's right?"
    "Yes."    "Well, I'll be going."    "Kiss me..."    "Good night." ... "Good night."

Muriel Stuart

Muriel Stuart was a British poet who gained prominence during the early 20th century. She was highly regarded for her contributions to Georgian poetry, a movement characterized by its eclectic and modernist styles. Stuart's work often grappled with themes of nature, love, and the human condition, reflecting the changing societal landscapes of her time. In addition to her poetry, she penned essays and other literary works, cementing her status as an influential literary figure.

Muriel Stuart

Annunciation.

Muriel Stuart, Simple Poetry

Madala Goes By The Orphanage.

Muriel Stuart, Simple Poetry

Enough.

Muriel Stuart, Simple Poetry

The Tryst.

Muriel Stuart, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Arabel

    Twists of smoke rise from the limpness of jewelled fingers,
    The softness of Persian rugs hushes the room.
    Under a dragon lamp with a shade the color of coral
    Sit the readers of poems one by one.
    And all the room is in shadow except for the blur
    Of mahogany surface, and tapers against the wall.

    And a youth reads a poem of love: forever and ever
    Is his soul the soul of the loved one; a woman sings
    Of the nine months which go to the birth of a soul.
    And after a time under the lamp a man
    Begins to read a letter having no poem to read.
    And the words of the letter flash and die like a fuse
    Dampened by rain, it's a dying mind that writes
    What Byron did for the Greeks against the Turks.
    And a sickness enters our ...

Edgar Lee Masters

The Visit

I reached the cottage. I knew it from the card
He had given me--the low door heavily barred,
Steep roof, and two yews whispering on guard.

Dusk thickened as I came, but I could smell
First red wallflower and an early hyacinth bell,
And see dim primroses. "O, I can tell,"

I thought, "they love the flowers he loved." The rain
Shook from fruit bushes in new showers again
As I brushed past, and gemmed the window pane.

Bare was the window yet, and the lamp bright.
I saw them sitting there, streamed with the light
That overflowed upon the enclosing night.

"Poor things, I wonder why they've lit up so,"
A voice said, passing on the road below.
"Who are they?" asked another. "Don't you know?"

Their voices crept away. I heard no more
As I c...

John Frederick Freeman

Lovers At The Lake Side.

I.

'And you brought him home.' 'I did, ay Ronald, it rested with me.'
'Love!' 'Yes.' 'I would fain you were not so calm.' 'I cannot weep. No.'
'What is he like, your poor father?' 'He is - like - this fallen tree
Prone at our feet, by the still lake taking on rose from the glow,


II.

Now scarlet, O look! overcoming the blue both lake and sky,
While the waterfalls waver like smoke, then leap in and are not.
And shining snow-points of high sierras cast down, there they lie.'
'O Laura - I cannot bear it. Laura! as if I forgot.'


III.

'No, you remember, and I remember that evening - like this
When we come forth from the gloomy Canyon, lo, a sinking sun.
And, Ronald, you gave to me your troth ring, I gave my troth kiss.'
'Give me anoth...

Jean Ingelow

Leda.

    Do you remember, Leda?


    There are those who love, to whom Love brings
    Great gladness: such thing have not I.
    Love looks and has no mercy, brings
    Long doom to others.    Such was I.
    Heart breaking hand upon the lute,
    Touching one note only ... such were you.
    Who shall play now upon that lute
    Long last made musical by you?
    Sharp bird-beak in the swelling fruit,
    Blind frost upon the eyes of flowers.
    Who shall now praise the shrivelled fruit,
    Or raise the eyelids of those flowers?

    I dare not watch that hidden pool,
    Nor see the wild bird's sudden wing
    Lifting the wide, brown, shaken pool,
    But round me falls that secret wing,
    And in that sharp, perverse, sweet pain

Muriel Stuart

My Lady of Verne

It all comes back as the end draws near;
All comes back like a tale of old!
Shall I tell you all? Will you lend an ear?
You, with your face so stern and cold;
You, who have found me dying here ...

Lady Leona's villa at Verne -
You have walked its terraces, where the fount
And statue gleam and the fluted urn;
Its world-old elms, that are avenues gaunt
Of shadow and flame when the West is a-burn.

'T is a lonely region of tarns and trees,
And hollow hills that circle the West;
Haunted of rooks and the far-off sea's
Immemorial vague unrest;
A land of sorrowful memories.

A gray sad land, where the wind has its will,
And the sun its way with the fruits and flowers;
Where ever the one all night is shrill,
And ever the other all day brings ...

Madison Julius Cawein

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter IV. Yearnings.



Letter IV. Yearnings.


I.

    The earth is glad, I know, when night is spent,
    For then she wakes the birdlings in the bowers;
    And, one by one, the rosy-footed hours
    Start for the race; and from his crimson tent
    The soldier-sun looks o'er the firmament;
    And all his path is strewn with festal flowers.


II.

    But what his mission? What the happy quest
    Of all this toil? He journeys on his way
    As Cæsar did, unbiass'd by the sway
    Of maid or man. His goal is in the west.
    Will he unbuckle there, a...

Eric Mackay