The Project Gutenberg eBook, Poems, by Alice Meynell
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Poems
Author: Alice Meynell
Release Date: March 16, 2005 [eBook #1186]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS***
Transcribed from the 1903 John Lane edition by David Price, email
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
Poems by Alice Meynell
Contents:
SONNET--MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN
SONNET--THOUGHTS IN SEPARATION
TO A POET
SONG OF THE SPRING TO THE SUMMER
TO THE BELOVED
MEDITATION
TO THE BELOVED DEAD--A LAMENT
SONNET
IN AUTUMN
A LETTER FROM A GIRL TO HER OWN OLD AGE
SONG
BUILDERS OF RUINS
SONNET
SONG OF THE DAY TO THE NIGHT
'SOEUR MONIQUE'
IN EARLY SPRING
PARTED
REGRETS
SONG
SONNET--IN FEBRUARY
SAN LORENZO GIUSTINIANI'S MOTHER
SONNET--THE LOVE OF NARCISSUS
TO A LOST MELODY
SONNET--THE POET TO NATURE
THE POET TO HIS CHILDHOOD
SONNET
AN UNMARKED FESTIVAL
SONNET--THE NEOPHYTE
SONNET--SPRING ON THE ALBAN HILLS
SONG OF THE NIGHT AT DAYBREAK
SONNET--TO A DAISY
SONNET--TO ONE POEM IN A SILENT TIME
FUTURE POETRY
THE POET SINGS TO HER POET
A POET'S SONNET
THE MODERN POET
AFTER A PARTING
RENOUNCEMENT
VENI CREATOR
DEDICATION
TO W. M.
_Most of these verses were written in the author's early youth, and were
published in a volume called 'Preludes,' now out of print. Other poems,
representing the same transitory and early thoughts, which appeared in
that volume, are now omitted as cruder than the rest; and their place is
taken by the few verses written in maturer years_.
SONNET--MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN
My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own,
Into thy garden; thine be happy hours
Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers,
From root to crowning petal, thine alone.
Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown
Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers.
But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers
To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown.
For as these come and go, and quit our pine
To follow the sweet season, or, new-comers,
Sing one song only from our alder-trees.
My heart has thoughts, which, thou
|