Penance

My lover died a century ago,
Her dear heart stricken by my sland’rous breath,
Wherefore the Gods forbade that I should know
The peace of death.

Men pass my grave, and say, “‘Twere well to sleep,
Like such an one, amid the uncaring dead!”
How should they know the vigil that I keep,
The tears I shed?

Upon the grave, I count with lifeless breath,
Each night, each year, the flowers that bloom and die,
Deeming the leaves, that fall to dreamless death,
More blest than I.

 

‘Twas just last year—I heard two lovers pass
So near, I caught the tender words he said:
To-night the rain-drenched breezes sway the grass
Above his head.

That night full envious of his life was I,
That youth and love should stand at his behest;
To-night, I envy him, that he should lie
At utter rest.

John McCrae (1872 – 1918)

 

© 2023  José Pereira Torrejón. All rights reserved. No part of the content of this blog may be distributed, published or reproduced without prior authorization from the author.

While you Sleep

Your picture ignited a poem in me.
A brusque stirring of the soul,
a thunder, and then, finally,
the words came crashing down like rain.
Oblivious of the conquest your image achieved,
you sleep.
Will you answer my heart's muffled scream?
Will you meet me, in a dream?

José Pereira Torrejón

 

© 2023  José Pereira Torrejón. All rights reserved. No part of the content of this blog may be distributed, published or reproduced without prior authorization from the author.

Dear

"She will love well," I said,
"If love be of that heart inhabiter,
The flowers of the dead;
The red anemone that with no sound
Moves in the wind, and from another wound
That sprang, the heavily-sweet blue hyacinth,
That blossoms underground,
And sallow poppies, will be dear to her.

Extract from "Ode to Silence" by Edna St Vincent Millay (1892-1950) 

© 2023  José Pereira Torrejón. All rights reserved. No part of the content of this blog may be distributed, published or reproduced without prior authorization from the author.

Jenny Kiss'd Me

Jenny kiss’d me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in;

Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in!

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that health and wealth have miss’d me,

Say I’m growing old, but add,

Jenny kiss’d me. 

 

James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)

© 2023  José Pereira Torrejón. All rights reserved. No part of the content of this blog may be distributed, published or reproduced without prior authorization from the author.