Muriel Stuart Poems

ASK not my pardon! For if one hath need
Once to forgive the god that he hath raised,
No further creed
Can that god give; but 'neath the soul who praised
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1.
I am one of the wind's stories,
I am a fancy of the rain,-
A memory of the high noon's glories,
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IN days of ancient history
Who were you? Tell me if you know.
Between your kisses answer me
To-night, Chicot.
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Do you remember, Leda?

There are those who love, to whom Love brings
Great gladness: such things have not I.
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When to your virgin heart, unstirred, ungiven,
Upon the quiet mountainside untrod,
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FAREWELL is said! Yea, but I cannot take
All that my Greeting gave.
In you hath Hope her doom and Joy her grave;
Still you go crowned with old imaginings,
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I will not have roses in my room again,
Nor listen to sonnets of Michael Angelo
To-night nor any night, nor fret my brain
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Chained to the years by the measureless wrong of man,
Here I hang, here I suffer, here I cry,
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Men wondered why I loved you, and none guessed
How sweet your slow, divine stupidity,
Your look of earth, your sense of drowsy rest,
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I am growing old: I have kept youth too long,
But I dare not let them know it now.
I have done the heart of youth a grievous wrong,
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