Ada Cambridge

[Ada Cross] (21 November 1844 – 19 July 1926 / St Gemans, Norfolk)

Ada Cambridge Poems

1. Dead 3/2/2010
2. The Old Maid's Story 3/2/2010
3. The Silence In The Church 3/2/2010
4. The Kind Word 3/2/2010
5. The Easter Decorations 3/2/2010
6. Home-Sick 3/2/2010
7. The Last Battle Of The Cid 3/2/2010
8. The Midnight Mass 3/2/2010
9. The Future Verdict 3/2/2010
10. The Season 3/2/2010
11. This Enlightened Age 3/2/2010
12. Tired 3/2/2010
13. The Coo Of The Cushat 3/2/2010
14. Unstrung 3/2/2010
15. London 3/3/2010
16. Too Late. 3/3/2010
17. Grey 3/2/2010
18. Wasted 3/2/2010
19. Good Night 3/3/2010
20. Cui Bono 3/3/2010
21. In Memoriam 3/2/2010
22. The Vain Question 3/2/2010
23. Sic Vos Non Vobis 3/2/2010
24. The Winged Mariners 3/2/2010
25. Evensong 3/2/2010
26. The Shadow 3/3/2010
27. Midnight 3/3/2010
28. The Resting-Place 3/2/2010
29. Responsibility 3/3/2010
30. Ordained 3/3/2010
31. The Hand In The Dark 3/2/2010
32. Practising The Anthem 3/2/2010
33. The Legend Of Lady Gertrude 3/2/2010
34. Empty 3/2/2010
35. Lord Nevil's Advice 3/2/2010
36. The Night 3/2/2010
37. Drunk 3/2/2010
38. The Hands That Hang Down 3/2/2010
39. Reaction 3/3/2010
40. Nightfall In The Fens 3/3/2010
Best Poem of Ada Cambridge

Fallen

For want of bread to eat and clothes to wear —
Because work failed and streets were deep in snow,
And this meant food and fire — she fell so low,
Sinning for dear life's sake, in sheer despair.
Or, because life was else so bald and bare,
The natural woman in her craved to know
The warmth of passion — as pale buds to blow
And feel the noonday sun and fertile air.

And who condemns? She who, for vulgar gain
And in cold blood, and not for love or need,
Has sold her body to more vile disgrace —
The prosperous matron, with her comely face —
Wife by the law, ...

Read the full of Fallen

The Virgin Martyr

Every wild she-bird has nest and mate in the warm April weather,
But a captive woman, made for love -- no mate, no nest has she.
In the spring of young desire, young men and maids are wed together,
And the happy mothers flaunt their bliss for all the world to see:
Nature's sacramental feast for these -- an empty board for me.

I, a young maid once, an old maid now, deposed, despised, forgotten --
I, like them have thrilled with passion and have dreamed of nuptial rest,
Of the trem

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