Saturday, 26 November 2011

The Poetry of Margery Clute (12)

 If you missed the first installment, which provided some background information regarding Margery Clute's poetry, you can read it here.



He glowed with beauty like a tree
That reaches up towards the sky.


I dozed: my soul did drift away,
Fearless, to a sleepy land,
Where Wilfred stood upon a cloud,
A golden harp held in his hand.

Motionless he stood and yet
The sweetest music seemed to flow
Down from his aethereal height
To waft around my ears below.

I woke to bitter memory:
Alas! Poor Wilfred is no more!
At one now with the rocks and stones,
Cold, beneath the chapel floor!

 Margery Clute (1824-76)

Winter Sketch

When icicles hang


GOAT said...

I'll bet old Wilfred was proud of that manly trunk!

As for glowing "with beauty like a worm", I must try that line next time I'm trying to impress someone special...

The Solitary Walker said...

Oh, Dominic, I mean Margaret, that first one was so brilliant, I'm almost wetting myself with laughter, I mean poignant tears. This poem gives the lie to the accepted view of Victorian sexual repression. Clute seems quite candid here - within the usual cultural taboos of nomenclature.

tony said...

Bravo The Skivvy!

tony said...

Bravo The Skivvy!

Gwil W said...

The girl certainly has a wild imagination!

Rachel Fenton said...

Quite the eye opener, our Marge! Smashing.

Love the parody of Shakespeare, too. Go blow your nail, Margery!

Dominic Rivron said...

GOAT: I bet. Try it, definitely. Let us know how you get on. You never know, it might uncover a mutual interest in Margery Clute! :)

SW: Marge says thank you. Indeed she does.

tony: Bravo twice indeed!

Gwil: Certainly a forward-looking one.

RF: In addition to Mr Shakes, the discerning may note allusions to both Byron and Wordsworth (among others) in her writing. Cor! Managed that without a be-verb.

John Hayes said...

The Freudian critics must have had a heyday with those two!