Elizabeth Daryush was an English poet.
Life and Career
Daughter of British poet laureate Robert Bridges, Elizabeth Daryush had a privileged upbringing in Victorian and Edwardian England. Although she followed her father's lead not only in choosing poetry as her life's work but also in the traditional style of poetry she chose to write, the themes of her work are often ... more »
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Elizabeth Daryush Poems
Through the open French window the warm sun Lights up the polished breakfast-table, laid Round a bowl of crimson roses, for one - A service of Worcester porcelain, arrayed
You Should at Times Go Out
You should at times go out from where the faithful kneel, visit the slums of doubt and feel what the lost feel;
She said to one: ‘How glows My heart at the hot thought Of battle’s glorious throes!’
Here the scanted daisy glows Glorious as the carmined rose; Here the hill-top's verdure mean Fair is with unfading green;
Above the grey down Gather, wan, the glows; Relieved by leaden Gleams a star-gang goes;
Children of Wealth in your Warm Nursery
Children of wealth in your warm nursery, Set in the cushioned window-seat to watch The volleying snow, guarded invisibly By the clear double pane through which no touch
Anger Lay By Me
Anger lay by me all night long, His breath was hot upon my brow, He told me of my burning wrong, All night he talked and would not go.
After Bank Holiday
Now deserted are the roads Where awhile the lovers went; Vacant are the field-abodes Where a vivid hour they spent:
Along the iron rails Plod still with panting power, Range still the empty trails Hour after hour;
Not that broad path chose he, which whoso wills May tread, if he by pay the fatal price, And for such sweet as earthly life extils,
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Through the open French window the warm sun
Lights up the polished breakfast-table, laid
Round a bowl of crimson roses, for one -
A service of Worcester porcelain, arrayed
Near it a melon, peaches, figs, small hot
Rolls in a napkin, fairy rack of toast,
Butter in ice, high silver coffee-pot,
And, heaped on a salver, the morning's post.
She comes over the lawn, the young heiress,
From her early walk in her garden-wood,
Feeling that life's a table set to bless
Her delicate desires with all that's good.
That even the unopened future lies
Like a ...