Another random discovery from the Poet's Corner...
(Poem #1840) The Seed Shop
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie, Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand, Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry - Meadows and gardens running through my hand. In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams; A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust That will drink deeply of a century's streams; These lilies shall make summer on my dust. Here in their safe and simple house of death, Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap; Here I can blow a garden with my breath, And in my hand a forest lies asleep.
(1922) There's nothing excitingly brilliant about this poem, but it gives me a certain quiet pleasure, both for the imagery and for the 'feel' of the verse itself. There is a soothing consistency in the rhythm and word choices, and some genuinely beautiful lines - it would be a lovely poem to print in an almanac, for instance, or in a collection of 'fireside poetry'. martin [Links] Wikipedia entry: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Muriel_Stuart Poems by Muriel Stuart: http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/books/stuart/stuart11.html