WeRead Powered by ReaderPub
Poems cover

Poems

Chapter 26: THREE SONGS
Open in WeRead

Explore more books like this:

About This Book

A lyrical collection of short poems that moves between domestic intimacy and mythic or maritime imagery, often meditating on motherhood, childhood, sleep, and loss. The pieces range from direct child songs and brief quatrains to sonnets, hymns, odes, and narrative ballads, and include themed sequences such as child songs and a set of Iseult poems. Language favors simple, musical phrasing and quiet introspection, balancing tenderness and elegy with occasional folktale drama. Recurring motifs of nature, the sea, and longing knit the diverse pieces into a cohesive emotional landscape.

THREE SONGS

I. THE SAILOR

You hold me for a day, my dear,
I lose you for a life,
And that’s the sailor’s way, my dear,
A love, but not a wife.
’Tis never I will blame you,
’Tis not my eyes are wet,
But ’tis I that must remember—
’Tis you that will forget.
You kiss me for a night, my dear,
I kiss you for the years,
And that’s the sailor’s right, my dear,
And life’s too short for tears.
’Tis never I will stay you
When once the moon has set,
But ’tis I that must remember—
’Tis you that will forget.

II. THE HUNTER

One came chasing the fallow deer
When all the wood was green,
But through my heart an arrow went
That ne’er by him was seen—
Ah me!
That ne’er by him was seen.
One came hunting the eagle-king
When all the wood was brown,
But over me a lure was cast
That dragged my proud heart down—
Ah me!
That dragged my proud heart down.
One came tracking the mighty boar
When all the wood was white,
But from my wound the red drops fell
That guided him that night—
Ah me!
That guided him that night.

III. THE PRINCE

My heart it was a cup of gold
That at his lip did long to lie,
But he hath drunk the red wine down,
And tossed the goblet by.
My heart it was a floating bird
That through the world did wander free,
But he hath locked it in a cage,
And lost the silver key.
My heart it was a white, white rose
That bloomed upon a broken bough,
He did but wear it for an hour,
And it is withered now.