1846 - 1914/Female/American Michael Field was a pseudonym used for the poetry and verse drama of Katharine Harris Bradley (27 October 1846 – 26 September 1914) and her niece and ward Edith Emma Cooper (12 January 1862 – 13 December 1913). [wikipedia]
Maids, not to you my mind doth change; Men I defy, allure, estrange, Prostrate, make bond or free: Soft as the stream beneath the plane To you I sing my love's refrain; Between us is no thought of pain, Peril, satiety.
Soon doth a lover's patience tire, But ye to manifold desire Can yield response, ye know When for long, museful days I pine, The presage at my heart divine; To you I never breathe a sign Of inward want or woe.
When injuries my spirit bruise, Allaying virtue ye infuse With unobtrusive skill: And if care frets ye come to me As fresh as nymph from stream or tree, And with your soft vitality My weary ***** fill.
It was deep April, and the morn Shakespeare was born; The world was on us, pressing sore; My love and I took hands and swore, Against the world, to be Poets and lovers evermore, To laugh and dream on Lethe's shore, To sing to Charon in his boat, Heartening the timid souls afloat; Of judgement never to take heed, But to those fast-locked souls to speed, Who never from Apollo fled, Who spent no hour among the dead; Continually With them to dwell, Indifferent to heaven and ****.
They are terribly white: There is snow on the ground, And a moon on the snow at night; The sky is cut by the winter light; Yet I, who have all these things in ken, Am struck to the heart by the chiselled white Of this handful of cyclamen
I love her with the seasons, with the winds, As the stars worship, as anemones Shudder in secret for the sun, as bees Buzz round an open flower: in all kinds My love is perfect, and in each she finds Herself the goal: then why, intent to teaze And rob her delicate spirit of its ease, Hastes she to range me with inconstant minds? If she should die, if I were left at large On earth without her-I, on earth, the same Quick mortal with a thousand cries, her spell She fears would break. And I confront the charge As sorrowing, and as careless of my fame As Christ intact before the infidel.