She dwelt among the untrodden ways

For those afraid of delving deep into poetry, here a few few snippets from an array favourite verse to whet your appetite:


She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
"She Dwelt" by William Wordsworth


Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
"The Lady of Shallot" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson


They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you...
"This Be The Verse" by Philip Larkin


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
"The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot


So sweet, so louely, and so mild as she,
Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store
Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright,
Her forehead Yuory white,
Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded,
Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to byte,
"Epithalamion" by Edmund Spenser


When you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
"When You Are Old" by William Butler Yeats


He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
"The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes


I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden;
Thou needest not fear mine;
My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thine.
"To ___" by Percy Bysshe Shelley

fragrance in your sighs and sunlight in your glances

Today has been National Poetry Day and TS Eliot has been declared the nation's favourite poet. ...alas for me his name always recalls a quote from Eric Idle:

"In a perfect universe 'T. S. Eliot' would be spelt 'toilets' backwards" - Eric Idle


I have a great love of poetry, for the perfect crafting of evocative words. As a small child I studied poetry recital where most children would be out learning how to play football. So I thought for today I would pull out a lesser known piece from the book in which I transcribe my most favourite poems. From an era of true gentlemen who would gift admired ladies beautiful things that they could treasure all their lives.

lines written for a blank page of The Keepsake

by W. M. Praed

Lady, there's fragrance in your sighs,
And sunlight in your glances;
I never saw such lips and eyes
In pictures or romances;
And Love will readily suppose,
To make you quite enslaving,
That you have taste for verse and prose.
Hot pressed, and line engraving.

And then, you waltz so like a Fay,
That round you envy rankles;
Your partner's head is turned, they say,
As surely as his ankles;
And I was taught, in days far gone.
By a most prudent mother,
That in this world of sorrow, one
Good turn deserves another.

I may not win you! — that's a bore!
But yet 'tis sweet to woo you;
And for this cause, — and twenty more,
I send this gay book to you.
If its songs please you, — by this light!
I will not hold it treason
To bid you dream of me to-night,
And dance with me next season.