Quotes from Charlotte Mew

Now I will burn you back, I will burn you through, Though I am damned for it we two will lieAnd burn, here where the starlings fly

Now I will burn you back, I will burn you through, Though I am damned for it we two will lie And burn, here where the starlings fly

But still it was a lovely thing Through the grey months to wait for Spring

You were sunrise to me rise and warm and streaming.' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew

before I die I want to see The world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes

A Quoi Bon Dire" Seventeen years ago you said Something that sounded like Good-bye; And everybody thinks that you are dead, But I. So I, as I grow stiff and cold To this and that say Good-bye too; And everybody sees that I am old But you. And one fine morning in a sunny lane Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear That nobody can love their way again, While over there You will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.

It was not you, it was your eyes – I spoke to them.

You were water to me deep and bold and fathoming' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew

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 to see the world that lies behind the strangeness of your eyes.

The scent of the unsilenced sea would linger on In these dark waves, and round the silence that was you.

Now I will burn you back, I will burn you through, Though I am damned for it we two will lie And burn.

I have been through the gates, I have groped, I have crept Back, back. There is dust in the streets, and blood; they are empty; darkness is over them; His heart is a place with the lights gone out, forsaken by great winds and the heavenly rain, unclean and unswept, Like the heart of the holy city, old, blind, beautiful Jerusalem, Over which Christ wept.

She did not love You like the rest.

You were moon's eye to me pull and grained and mantling' - Praise Song For My Mother by Charlotte Mew

There is something horrible about a flower; This, broken in my hand, is one of those He threw it in just now; it will not live another hour; There are thousands more; you do not miss a rose