BRIAR
Waiting for love I shyly crept
Into a turret room and slept.
I woke uneasily at morn
After a hundred years. The thorn
Has tangled upward sharp and high;
Through it I see the roadway, dry
And empty, vanish round the hill.
The cob-webbed castle is so still;
So thick the hedge has grown, so strong,
So cruel … Have I slept too long?
EVER AFTER
She was a princess cold as a star;
He was ragged as most poets are.
He knelt at her feet and watched her cool
Beauty gleam like a lily pool.
But his passion rose to his burning lips
Which he pressed to the snow of her finger tips.
Her laughter fell like a wave that spatters
Moon-white foam as it breaks. What matters
A poet to a princess cold as a star
Who knows how ragged most poets are?
A princess lives happily ever after
Though poets have drowned in her silver laughter.
TWELVE O’ THE CLOCK
I danced life to a lilting measure.
Who watches a clock when bent on pleasure?
My hert was tuned to the music’s beat
And crystal shoon were on my feet.
The bell pealed loud, the bell pealed clear;
I pressed a finger in each ear.
One … it struck, and two … and three;
I danced my steps more merrily.
Four … five … and six, eight, nine and ten …
I paused and ran to the stairway then.
Much to my credit be it said,
At half past twelve I lay in bed,
With under my pillow, cool as the moon,
Safe hidden, one of the crystal shoon.
Somewhere I know is the mate to it,
But I’ve grown quite stout and it might not fit.
Like merry mice, gay memories mock
My kitchen dress … as I watch the clock.
(Edith Mirick)
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Based on Topics: Literature Poems, Snow Poems, Music Poems, Pleasure Poems, Laughter Poems, Poets PoemsBased on Keywords: uneasily, pealed, hert, moon-white, spatters, cob-webbed