Voices Of Women

Met ye my love?
Ye might in France have met him;
He has a wooing smile,
Who sees cannot forget him!
Met ye my Love?
We shared full many a mile.

Saw ye my Love?
In lands far-off he has been,
With his yellow-tinted hair,
In Egypt such ye have seen;
Ye knew my love?
I was his brother there.

Heard ye my love?
My love ye must have heard,
For his voice when he will
Tinkles like cry of a bird;
Heard ye my love?
We sang on a Grecian hill.

Behold your love,
And how shall I forget him,
His smile, his hair, his song?
Alas, no maid shall get him
For all her love,
Where he sleeps a million strong.

Frank James Prewett

Frank James Prewett was a Canadian poet born on August 24, 1893, in Ontario, Canada. He became associated with British literary circles and served in the First World War, during which he was seriously injured. His work often reflects the impact of war and his experiences as a soldier. A member of the famous Bloomsbury Group, Prewett's poetry gained recognition for its poignant, realistic portrayal of war and its aftermath. He passed away on February 16, 1962, leaving behind a substantial body of work that continues to be studied for its historical and literary significance.

Frank James Prewett

The Somme Valley, June, 1917

Frank James Prewett, Simple Poetry

Snow-Buntings

Frank James Prewett, Simple Poetry

Come Girl, And Embrace

Frank James Prewett, Simple Poetry

Burial Stones

Frank James Prewett, 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.

Young Love

Young love, all rainbows in the lane,
    Brushed by the honeysuckle vines,
Scattered the wild rose in a dream:
    A sweeter thing his arm entwines.

Ah, redder lips than any rose!
    Ah, sweeter breath than any bee
Sucks from the heart of any flower;
    Ah, bosom like the Summer sea!

A fairy creature made of dew
    And moonrise and the songs of birds,
And laughter like the running brook,
    And little soft, heart-broken words.

Haunted as marble in the moon,
    Her whiteness lies on young love's breast.
And living frankincense and myrrh
    Her lips that on his lips are pressed.

Her eyes are lost within his eyes,
    His eyes in hers are fathoms deep;
Death is not stiller than these twain
    That smile as in a magic...

Richard Le Gallienne

Years Ago

The old dead flowers of bygone summers,
The old sweet songs that are no more sung,
The rose-red dawns that were welcome comers
When you and I and the world were young,

Are lost, O love, to the light for ever,
And seen no more of the moon or sun,
For seas divide, and the seasons sever,
And twain are we that of old were one.

O fair lost love, when the ship went sailing
Across the seas in the years agone,
And seaward-set were the eyes unquailing,
And landward-looking the faces wan,

My heart went back as a dove goes homeward
With wings aweary to seek its nest,
While fierce sea-eagles are flying foamward
And storm-winds whiten the surges crest;

And far inland for a farewell pardon
Flew on and on, while the ship went South,
The ros...

Victor James Daley

Saw Ye My Phely. (Quasi Dicat Phillis.)

Tune - "When she came ben she bobbit."


I.

    O saw ye my dear, my Phely?
    O saw ye my dear, my Phely?
    She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a new love!
        She winna come hame to her Willy.

II.

    What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
    What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
    She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot,
        And for ever disowns thee, her Willy.

III.

    O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
    O had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely!
    As light as the air, and fause as thou's fair,
        Thou's broken the heart o' thy Willy.

Robert Burns

An Old Love Letter

I was reading a letter of yours to-day,
The date - O a thousand years ago!
The postmark is there - the month was May:
How, in God's name, did I let you go?
What wonderful things for a girl to say!
And to think that I hadn't the sense to know -
What wonderful things for a man to hear!
O still beloved, O still most dear.

"Duty" I called it, and hugged the word
Close to my side, like a shirt of hair;
You laughed, I remember, laughed like a bird,
And somehow I thought that you didn't care.
Duty! - and Love, with her bosom bare!
No wonder you laughed, as we parted there -
Then your letter came with this last good-by -
And I sat splendidly down to die.

Nor Duty, nor Death, would have aught of me:
"He is Love's," they said, "he cannot be ours;"
...

Richard Le Gallienne

Paul Verlaine

You would have understood me, had you waited;
I could have loved you, dear! as well as he:
Had we not been impatient, dear! and fated
Always to disagree.

What is the use of speech? Silence were fitter:
Lest we should still be wishing things unsaid.
Though all the words we ever spake were bitter,
Shall I reproach you dead?

Nay, let this earth, your portion, likewise cover
All the old anger, setting us apart:
Always, in all, in truth was I your lover;
Always, I held your heart.

I have met other women who were tender,
As you were cold, dear! with a grace as rare.
Think you, I turned to them, or made surrender,
I who had found you fair?

Had we been patient, dear! ah, had you waited,
I had fought death for you, better than he:
But ...

Ernest Christopher Dowson

Calais Sands

A thousand knights have reind their steeds
To watch this line of sand-hills run,
Along the never silent Strait,
To Calais glittering in the sun:

To look toward Ardres Golden Field
Across this wide aërial plain,
Which glows as if the Middle Age
Were gorgeous upon earth again.

Oh, that to share this famous scene
I saw, upon the open sand,
Thy lovely presence at my side,
Thy shawl, thy look, thy smile, thy hand!

How exquisite thy voice would come,
My darling, on this lonely air!
How sweetly would the fresh sea-breeze
Shake loose some lock of soft brown hair!

But now my glance but once hath roved
Oer Calais and its famous plain;
To Englands cliffs my gaze is turnd,
Oer the blue Strait mine eyes I strain.

Thou...

Matthew Arnold