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Friday, May 31, 2013

I Love It When I Get Away, But I Always Miss NFPF!

My Irish Love 

Beside the saffron of a curtain, lit 
With broidered flowers, below a golden fringe 
That on her silver shoulder made a glow, 
Like the sun kissing lilies in the dawn; 
She sat--my Irish love--slim, light and tall. 
Between his mighty paws her stag-hound held, 
(Love-jealous he) the foam of her pale robes, 
Rare laces of her land, and his red eyes, 
Half lov'd me, grown familiar at her side, 
Half pierc'd me, doubting my soul's right to stand 
His lady's wooer in the courts of Love. 
Above her, knitted silver, fell a web 
Of light from waxen tapers slipping down, 
First to the wide-winged star of em'ralds set 
On the black crown with its blue burnish'd points 
Of raven light; thence, fonder, to the cheek 
O'er which flew drifts of rose-leaves wild and rich, 
With lilied pauses in the wine-red flight; 
For when I whispered, like a wind in June, 
My whisper toss'd the roses to and fro 
In her dear face, and when I paus'd they lay 
Still in her heart. Then lower fell the light. 
A silver chisel cutting the round arm 
Clear from the gloom; and dropped like dew 
On the crisp lily, di'mond clasp'd, that lay 
In happy kinship on her pure, proud breast, 
And thence it sprang like Cupid, nimble-wing'd, 
To the quaint love-ring on her finger bound 
And set it blazing like a watch-fire, lit 
To guard a treasure. Then up sprang the flame 
Mad for her eyes, but those grey worlds were deep 
In seas of native light: and when I spoke 
They wander'd shining to the shining moon 
That gaz'd at us between the parted folds 
Of yellow, rich with gold and daffodils, 
Dropping her silver cloak on Innisfail. 
O worlds, those eyes! there Laughter lightly toss'd 
His gleaming cymbals; Large and most divine 
Pity stood in their crystal doors with hands 
All generous outspread; in their pure depths 
Mov'd Modesty, chaste goddess, snow-white of brow, 
And shining, vestal limbs; rose-fronted stood 
Blushing, yet strong; young Courage, knightly in 
His virgin arms, and simple, russet Truth 
Play'd like a child amongst her tender thoughts-- 
Thoughts white as daisies snow'd upon the lawn. 

Unheeded, Dante on the cushion lay, 
His golden clasps yet lock'd--no poet tells 
The tale of Love with such a wizard tongue 
That lovers slight dear Love himself to list. 

Our wedding eve, and I had brought to her 
The jewels of my house new set for her 
(As I did set the immemorial pearl 
Of our old honour in the virgin gold 
Of her high soul) with grave and well pleased eyes, 
And critic lips, and kissing finger tips, 
She prais'd the bright tiara and its train 
Of lesser splendours--nor blush'd nor smil'd: 
They were but fitting pages to her state, 
And had no tongues to speak between our souls. 

But I would have her smile ripe for me then, 
Swift treasure of a moment--so I laid 
Between her palms a little simple thing, 
A golden heart, grav'd with my name alone, 
And round it, twining close, small shamrocks link'd 
Of gold, mere gold: no jewels made it rich, 
Until twin di'monds shatter'd from her eyes 
And made the red gold rare. 'True Knight,' she said, 
'Your English heart with Irish shamrocks bound!' 
'A golden prophet of eternal truth,' 
I said, and kissed the roses of her palms, 
And then the shy, bright roses of her lips, 
And all the jealous jewels shone forgot 
In necklace and tiara, as I clasp'd 
The gold heart and its shamrocks round her neck. 
My fair, pure soul! My noble Irish love! 

By Isabella Valancy Crawford 

I've missed showing my love, and admiration for poetry. 

Next week is my birthday week, so I'm sorry to say I might not post much of anything next week also, I'm not sure. 
"My Irish Love" is the type of poetry I want to one day accomplish. I want to write a well written Narrative, & Epic Poems. Hopefully, one day I will. Eh, I hate talking about myself, its so vain and typical for a blogger. lol. 
Anyways, Have a wonderful weekend, and stay safe
Amour Toujours 
Nailah D'arcy 

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