| Poems by Women |
A Lynmouth Widow
He was straight and strong, and his eyes were blue
As
the summer meeting of sky and sea,
And the ruddy cliffs had a colder
hue
Than flushed his cheek when he married me.
We passed the porch where the swallows breed,
We left the little brown
church behind,
And I leaned on his arm, though I had no need,
Only to feel
him so strong and kind.
One thing I never can quite forget;
It grips my throat when I try to pray
--
The keen salt smell of a drying net
That hung on the churchyard wall
that day.
He would have taken a long, long grave --
A long, long grave, for he stood
so tall . . .
Oh, God, the crash of a breaking wave,
And the smell of the
nets on the churchyard wall!
From: Rittenhouse, Jessie B.
The Second Book of Modern Verse (1919).
This poet:
[Author index]
This collection assembled by Jone Johnson Lewis.
Collection © 1999-2002 Jone Johnson Lewis.
Citing poems from these pages:
| Author. "Poem Title." Women's History: Poems by Women. Jone Johnson Lewis, editor. URL: (date of logon) |
