Charlotte Mary Mew

(15 November 1869 – 24 March 1928 / London)

Charlotte Mary Mew Poems

1. The Road To Kerity 3/25/2012
2. Fin De Fête 3/25/2012
3. Song 3/25/2012
4. The Sunlit House 3/25/2012
5. Madeline In Church 3/25/2012
6. Not For That City 3/25/2012
7. Pêcheresse 3/25/2012
8. Ken 3/25/2012
9. Moorland Night 3/25/2012
10. The Voice 3/25/2012
11. Fame 1/28/2014
12. June, 1915 11/25/2014
13. The Forest Road 3/25/2012
14. In Nunhead Cemetary 3/25/2012
15. Monsieur Qui Passe 1/3/2003
16. Sea Love 1/3/2003
17. I Have Been Through The Gates 1/3/2003
18. The Cenotaph 1/3/2003
19. The Peddler 1/3/2003
20. From A Window 1/3/2003
21. In The Fields 1/3/2003
22. Absence 1/3/2003
23. A Quoi Bon Dire 1/3/2003
24. The Farmer's Bride 1/3/2003
25. The Changeling 1/3/2003
26. The Trees Are Down 1/3/2003
27. A Farewell 1/3/2003
28. I So Liked Spring 1/3/2003
29. My Heart Is Lame 1/3/2003
30. On The Road To The Sea 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Charlotte Mary Mew

On The Road To The Sea

We passed each other, turned and stopped for half an hour, then went our way,
I who make other women smile did not make you--
But no man can move mountains in a day.
So this hard thing is yet to do.

But first I want your life:--before I die I want to see
The world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes,
There is nothing gay or green there for my gathering, it may be,
Yet on brown fields there lies
A haunting purple bloom: is there not something in grey skies
And in grey sea?
I want what world there is behind your eyes,
I want your life and you will ...

Read the full of On The Road To The Sea

The Cenotaph

Not yet will those measureless fields be green again
Where only yesterday the wild sweet blood of wonderful youth was shed;
There is a grave whose earth must hold too long, too deep a stain,
Though for ever over it we may speak as proudly as we may tread.
But here, where the watchers by lonely hearths from the thrust of an inward sword have more slowly bled,
We shall build the Cenotaph: Victory, winged, with Peace, winged too, at the column’s head.
And over the stairway, at the foot—oh! he

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