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The Poems of Alice Meynell

Index by First Line

Last Poems

Originally issued February 1923

A mirror faced a mirror: ire and hate
Autumn is weary, halt, and old
Dear fool, be true to me!
Dear laws, come to my breast!
“Farewells!” O what a word!
Here are my thoughts, alive within this fold
Home, home from the horizon far and clear
It knows but will not tell
It was the south: mid-everything
Man pays that debt with new munificence
No “fan is in his hand” for these
Not, Silence, for thine idleness I raise
Not that the earth is changing, O my God!
Not wish, nor fear, nor quite expectancy
O delicate! Even in wooded lands
O our young ancestor
That seeking Prelude found its unforetold
The rooted liberty of flowers in breeze
The wind is blind
Thou wouldst not part thy spoil
’Tis royal and authentic June
To his devoted heart
Virgil stayed Dante with a wayside word
We do not find Him on the difficult earth
We too (one cried), we too
Who then is “he”?
Wide waters in the waste; or, out of reach
You bid me hold my peace
You “made a virtue of necessity”
 
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Created April 14, 2001; not revised.