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Alice Meynell

Alice Meynell

At Night

Home, home from the horizon far and clear,
Hither the soft wings sweep;
Flocks of the memories of the day draw near
The dovecote doors of sleep.
 
Oh which are they that come through sweetest light
Of all these homing birds?
Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight?
Your words to me, your words!

#English #Women

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Altre opere di Alice Meynell...
The Shepherdess

She walks—the lady of my delight— A shepherdess of sheep. Her flocks are thoughts. She keep… She keeps them from the steep; She feeds them on the fragrant hei…
A Letter From a Girl to Her Own Old Age

Listen, and when thy hand this pap… O time-worn woman, think of her wh… What thy thin fingers touch, with… O mother, for the weight of years… O daughter, for slow time must yet…
 1
Parted

Farewell to one now silenced quite… Sent out of hearing, out of sight,… My friend of friends, whom I shal… He is not banished, though, for th… Nor he, nor sadness, nor delight.
An Unmarked Festival

There’s a feast undated, yet Both our true lives hold it fast,— Even the day when we first met. What a great day came and passed, —Unknown then, but known at last.
The Lady of the Lambs

She walks—the lady of my delight— A shepherdess of sheep. Her flocks are thoughts. She keep… She guards them from the steep. She feeds them on the fragrant hei…
Cradle-Song at Twilight

The child not yet is lulled to res… Too young a nurse, the slender Ni… So laxly holds him to her breast That throbs with flight. He plays with her, and will not sl…
After Parting

Farewell has long been said; I ha… I never name thee even. But how shall I learn virtues and… For thou art so near Heaven That Heavenward meditations pause…
Singers to Come

New delights to our desire The singers of the past can yield. I lift mine eyes to hill and field… And see in them your yet dumb lyre… poets unborn and unrevealed.
In February

Rich meanings of the prophet-Spri… Unseen, this colourless sky of fol… And folded winds; no blossom in th… A poet’s face asleep in this grey… Now in the midst of the old world…
In Autumn

The leaves are many under my feet, And drift one way. Their scent of death is weary and… A flight of them is in the grey Where sky and forest meet.
A Song of Derivations

I come from nothing; but from wher… Come the undying thoughts I bear? Down, through the long links of de… From the past poets of the earth, My immortality is there.
The Return to Nature.

(I) PROMETHEUS 1- IT was the south: mid-everything, - Mid-land, mid-summer, noon ; -
Your Own Fair Youth

Your own fair youth, you care so l… Smiling toward Heaven, you would… Of time and change upon your hapie… I keep your golden hour, and will… If ever, in time to come, you woul…
Renouncement

I must not think of thee; and, tir… I shun the love that lurks in all… The love of thee—and in the blue h… And in the dearest passage of a so… Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoug…
Maternity

One wept whose only child was dead… New-born, ten years ago. “Weep not; he is in bliss,” they s… She answered, “Even so, ”Ten years ago was born in pain



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