Shut Out that Moon
Thomas Hardy

Close up the casement, draw the blind,
Shut out that stealing moon,
She wears too much the guise she wore
Before our lutes were strewn
With years-deep dust, and names we read
On a white stone were hewn.

Step not forth on the dew-dashed lawn
To view the Lady's Chair,
Immense Orion's glittering form,
The Less and Greater Bear:
Stay in; to such sights we were drawn
When faded ones were fair.

Brush not the bough for midnight scent
That come forth lingeringly,
And wake the same sweet sentiments
They breathed to you and me
When living seemed a laugh, a love
All it was said to be.

Within the common lamp-lit room
Prison my eyes and thought;
Let dingy details crudely loom,
Mechanic speech he wrought:
Too fragrant was Life's early bloom,
Too tart the fruit it brought!

FALSE THOUGH SHE BE

by: William Congreve

FALSE though she be to me and love,
I'll ne'er pursue revenge;
For still the charmer I approve,
Though I deplore her change.

In hours of bliss we oft have met:
They could not always last;
And though the present I regret,
I'm grateful for the past.

Winter Seascape
by John Betjeman

The sea runs back against itself
With scarcely time for breaking wave
To cannonade a slatey shelf
And thunder under in a cave.

Before the next can fully burst
The headwind, blowing harder still,
Smooths it to what it was at first -
A slowly rolling water-hill.

Against the breeze the breakers haste,
Against the tide their ridges run
And all the sea's a dappled waste
Criss-crossing underneath the sun.

Far down the beach the ripples drag
Blown backward, rearing from the shore,
And wailing gull and shrieking shag
Alone can pierce the ocean roar.

Unheard, a mongrel hound gives tongue,
Unheard are shouts of little boys;
What chance has any inland lung
Against this multi-water noise?

Here where the cliffs alone prevail
I stand exultant, neutral, free,
And from the cushion of the gale
Behold a huge consoling sea.

James at his Toy Fair 28-11-09


Thanks to cat for the pic

First Love

I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more

John Clare

The Confirmation
by Edwin Muir

Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face,
I in my mind had waited for this long.
Seeing the false and searching the true,
Then I found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys and rocks and twisting roads.
But you, what shall I call you?
A fountain in a waste.
A well of water in a country dry.
Or anything that's honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world bright.
Your open heart simple with giving, give the primal deed.
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed.
The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea,
Not beautiful or rare in every part
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.

No column to hold me up
-------------------------
That tent that you saw at the top of your street,
Was me camping out, hoping that I would meet
You passing that way, but I got a bad chest
just before my arrest. I'd forgotten my vest.

Got my Mrs May T-shirt and pillow and knickers
Who cares if they have inappropriate stickers!
There's shopping bags, magnets and badges galore,
I just keep buying more,
On some can I say that you look really rough!
Ooh! I can't get enough of this Mr May stuff.

In the next day or two a delivery truck
Will deliver two tons of those gums that you suck,
It's possible that it might just cause a jam,
As it's also unloading the five tons of Spam.
The Ferrari I got you will soon be arriving
Mid life crisis averted re the car you'll be driving!

The registry office I've now gone and booked
Your, so busy schedule I've not overlooked.
Friday at two, or Monday three, Tuesday four,
The guys from 'Hello' say they'll wait by the door.
Consider the car as a small wedding gift,
I'm now stony broke. Could you give me a lift?
So, I will wear puce and I think we should match,
I bet even Jordan will envy my catch.

Right!
Cancel the wedding, found out my worse fears,
Apparently you've had a nice girlfriend for years!
That's it I'm afraid, I just can't be a fan,
I've heard Doctor Who is a very nice man.
Can I have the Ferrari? It's important the car is,
Seems all the doc's got is a thing called a Tardis.

Elaine x

Tell me not here, it needs not saying
Alfred Edward Housman

Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.

On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller’s joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.

On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.

Possess, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.

For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What stranger’s feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no.

Hello James,

RetroMaynia

Looking from a woman's point of view,
Whatever are we going to do with you?
Bet poor Woman wonders what she's got,
As man with tectonic plate equals...
Real crackpot!

Eclectic kitchen contents?
You're just like my old mum.
She's got gadgets and cracked plates dating from 1931.
Your Woman's oh so tolerant,
Finds humouring is best,
Perhaps SHE'd like white crockery?
Please put her to the test.
Perhaps she's working her way down,
by starting with the attic.
And that is why the kitchen still,
Appears to be quite static.
Although I believe she infiltrated,
(To the juicer I'm refering,)
Ooh! please pass me my wooden spoon,
I love a bit of stirring. ;-)

As for your little Honda banger,
What about a plinth in the Top Gear hangar?
Ooh, Mr Clarkson would really love that!
Vietnam memories of the times he went splat!
Wouldn't you just love to see his face,
If your chugging little Honda had pride of place.

Elaine x

To the Moon

Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth, -
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Thank you Honeyfitz for the great photo of James at MPH.

The Power of Words
Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Tis a strange mystery, the power of words!
Life is in them, and death. A word can send
The crimson colour hurrying to the cheek.
Hurrying with many meanings; or can turn
The current cold and deadly to the heart.
Anger and fear are in them; grief and joy
Are on their sound; yet slight, impalpable:--
A word is but a breath of passing air.

Meeting James May.

I travelled down to London last week to meet James for the second time. He was signing his 'Toy Stories' book. He was very sweet and complimented my poetic endeavours. Thank you James. All this is dedicated to and inspired by you. I hope you like my poetry choices. Elaine x

Sonnet to Hope

O, ever skilled to wear the form we love!
To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart;
Come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile remove
The lasting sadness of an aching heart.
Thy voice, benign Enchantress! let me hear;
Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,--
That Fancy's radiance, Friendship's precious tear,
Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune's gloom.
But come not glowing in the dazzling ray,
Which once with dear illusions charm'd my eye,--
O! strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my way
The flowers I fondly thought too bright to die;
Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast,
That asks not happiness, but longs for rest!

Helen Maria Williams

THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.
Joanna Baillie

Braced in the sinewy vigour of thy breed,
In pride of generous strength, thou stately steed,
Thy broad chest to the battle's front is given,
Thy mane fair floating to the winds of heaven.
Thy champing hoofs the flinty pebbles break;
Graceful the rising of thine arched neck.
White churning foam thy chaffed bits enlock;
And from thy nostril bursts the curling smoke.
Thy kindling eye-balls brave the glaring south;
And dreadful is the thunder of thy mouth:
Whilst low to earth thy curving haunches bend,
Thy sweepy tail involved in clouds of sand;
Erect in air thou rear'st thy front of pride,
And ring'st the plated harness on thy side.
But, lo! what creature, goodly to the sight,
Dares thus bestride thee, chaffing in thy might?
Of portly stature, and determin'd mien?
Whose dark eye dwells beneath a brow serene?
And forward looks unmoved to fields of death,
And smiling, gently strokes thee in thy wrath?
Whose brandished falchion dreaded gleams afar?
It is a British soldier, armed for war!

Hello James,
"But I can only write what the muse allows me to write. I cannot choose,
I can only do what I am given, and I feel pleased when I feel close to concrete poetry - still."
Ian Hamilton Finlay
----------------------------

Amuse my Muse
------------
After much deliberation,
Infinite examinations,
I've come to the conclusion,
The answer lies in combinations.

Now I don't mean what great grandad wore
When draughts did in the winter draw.
I'm talking of grey matter, crikey!
I'll go all posh and say, the psyche.

Nothing can quite bring together
More adroitly than the brain,
Countless subtle, diverse sensations,
Perfection snapshots to attain.

When,
things come together at critical moments,
Providing experiences you can't define,
Captured in time and later recalled,
(You're always enthralled,)
Treasures, unmeasurable, unique and sublime.

Quintessential Porsche therefore could be defined,
When awareness is heightened and forces aligned,
Image, speed, power - all senses applied,
Colliding convergences intensified.
The muse has inspired, I think you will find,
Brought altogether by the power of the mind.

Elaine x

I'll change highways in a while, at the crossroads, one more mile.
My path is lit by my own fire. I'm going only where I desire.

Remembrance Sunday

Hello James, - Tea's up!
--------------
"The saddest thing I can imagine is to get used to luxury."
Charlie Chaplin

"Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room
with a tea cozy, doesn't try it on." Billy Connolly

Now I love tea and tea loves me
Except that it makes me want to...
be forever finding,
and this bit grieves,
ways of recycling spent tea leaves.
Good for the garden that's where they should go,
That's if I can be ars.. bothered to throw
them out when it's raining
and I've got bare feet,
so usually at this point I tend to cheat
and try to flush them down the sink,
then make myself another drink!

So Mr May, according to you
You're always making this tasty brew,
The burning question is,
I want to know,
Where do all your tea leaves go?
Do you like me
shove them down the sink
and block it up and make it stink?
I suppose that I should use my strainer,
leave them to dry out on the drainer.
Then bag them up,
add raspberry,
and sell them off as herbal tea!

Elaine x

Piano

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

D. H. Lawrence

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
W.B. Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

Hebridean holiday


Love's Philosophy
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle—
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain'd its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?

In a Boat
by D. H. Lawrence

See the stars, love,
In the water much clearer and brighter
Than those above us, and whiter,
Like nenuphars.

Star-shadows shine, love,
How many stars in your bowl?
How many shadows in your soul,
Only mine, love, mine?

When I move the oars, love,
See how the stars are tossed,
Distorted, the brightest lost.
—So that bright one of yours, love.

The poor waters spill
The stars, waters broken, forsaken.
—The heavens are not shaken, you say, love,
Its stars stand still.

There, did you see
That spark fly up at us; even
Stars are not safe in heaven.
—What of yours, then, love, yours?

What then, love, if soon
Your light be tossed over a wave?
Will you count the darkness a grave,
And swoon, love, swoon?

He's still for buying that Ferrari!

Hello James,

"The reward for work well done is the
opportunity to do more." Dr Jonas Salk

Mr May wants a Ferrari,
So, a Ferrari he must own,
He's to get rid of the 911, doh!
And go forth into the unknown.

Perhaps you can talk him out of it,
Mayhap the deed's already done?
As member 782 of his harem,
I'm just loitering here for the fun.

Waiting to see what's the outcome.
Will he or wont he buy
Into the red car cliche,
As the years are passing him by?

(Now I've mentioned my place in the harem,
To those people who scathe, can I say,
Bothered, as to what you think?
No!
I affirm,
I admire Mr May.) ;-)

Elaine x

Thought you might like to see this portrait of me, as drawn by one of the children that I teach.

Banished is Sleep
Glynfab John

The tissues of dawn
Dissolve in the dew.
Golden sun-shafts split
The fragile sky wide open,
And diva-like songbirds
Lead the chorus of the day.
Sheep, recently sheared, bleat
To another morning greet,
While silken-winged butterflies
Gaily flutter through the air.
With fishes in their throats,
Silver streams gurgle towards
The gaping mouth of the sea.
Weeping willows droop wearily,
As in lush grass-green meads
Timid creatures emerge to peep.
Banished is sleep.

In reply to the Telegraph article in which,
James tells us that it's a good time to buy a supercar.
Not aimed at the majority of us then!

Hello James,

"Here comes 40. I'm feeling my age and I've ordered the Ferrari.
I'm going to get the whole mid-life crisis package."
Keanu Reeves

There's an optimum time that we come to,
as we journey along in life.
When out of the blue,
an epiphany's due,
Eureka! It's goodbye to strife.

We realise that it can be our time,
and not counted as selfish or mean.
We're suddenly free,
to say "this is for me",
and feel like again, we're nineteen.

We can write off daft things as eccentric
and extravagant purchases, classy,
Attempt to get thin now,
Seen in a gym window,
Whilst trying to shape up our chassis.

Then there's the obligatory sports car.
I could only afford a Celica,
Still I love her to bits,
Wonderbra for my ..bits
Drum and bass in the speaker,
Wheels screaming,
Me beaming,
What the heck,
I'm a new pleasure-seeker!

So, my dear Mr May, take your pleasures today.
For waiting manyana could be a banana.
With your hard-worked for wealth,
Time to please just yourself.
I hope, thought provoking, a Ferrari - you're joking!
We'd all wish you the joy of a supercar toy.
See I can be quite nice, well, just once or twice. ;-)
From the slightly insane, but persistent, Elaine x

Memories of a summer's afternoon drive.
The route takes me through Chatsworth park - ooh! Mr Darcy.

My lovely Derbyshire countryside

James May - Rocket Man

The Hale Bopp Comet

I am like a slip of comet'
By Gerard Manley Hopkins

I am like a slip of comet,
Scarce worth discovery, in some corner seen
Bridging the slender difference of two stars,
Come out of space, or suddenly engender'd
By heady elements, for no man knows;
But when she sights the sun she grows and sizes
And spins her skirts out, while her central star
Shakes its cocooning mists; and so she comes
To fields of light; millions of travelling rays
Pierce her; she hangs upon the flame-cased sun,
And sucks the light as full as Gideons's fleece:
But then her tether calls her; she falls off,
And as she dwindles shreds her smock of gold
Between the sistering planets, till she comes
To single Saturn, last and solitary;
And then she goes out into the cavernous dark.
So I go out: my little sweet is done:
I have drawn heat from this contagious sun:
To not ungentle death now forth I run.

At a Lunar Eclipse
By Thomas Hardy

Thy shadow, Earth, from Pole to Central Sea,
Now steals along upon the Moon's meek shine
In even monochrome and curving line
Of imperturbable serenity.

How shall I link such sun-cast symmetry
With the torn troubled form I know as thine,
That profile, placid as a brow divine,
With continents of moil and misery?

And can immense Mortality but throw
So small a shade, and Heaven's high human scheme
Be hemmed within the coasts yon arc implies?

Is such the stellar gauge of earthly show,
Nation at war with nation, brains that teem,
Heroes, and women fairer than the skies?

House On A Cliff

Indoors the tang of a tiny oil lamp. Outdoors
The winking signal on the waste of sea.
Indoors the sound of the wind. Outdoors the wind.
Indoors the locked heart and the lost key.

Outdoors the chill, the void, the siren. Indoors
The strong man pained to find his red blood cools,
While the blind clock grows louder, faster. Outdoors
The silent moon, the garrulous tides she rules.

Indoors ancestral curse-cum-blessing. Outdoors
The empty bowl of heaven, the empty deep.
Indoors a purposeful man who talks at cross
Purposes, to himself, in a broken sleep.

Louis Macneice

The following tongue-in-cheek poem was in answer to the
following Daily Telegraph article,
'The garage of my dreams'

James proposes marriage to his garage!
---------------------------------------------------
“Women always worry about the things that men forget;
men always worry about the things women remember”

Poor Woman! I can tell,
If I were her I would rebel.
You cannot treat a girl like that,
When she has given up her flat.
How your writing doth disparage,
I'd lock you in your flippin' garage!

I think she's brave to take you on,
Her independence now foregone
For a bachelor is hard to tame,
A selfish breed and all the same.
Just let them think they're wild and free,
Some hours of peace there then can be.
Allow them chum nights down the pub,
To indulge in darts and beer and grub.
And nuture well their inner child,
Then they will be both meek and mild.

Uncalled for James? I dont think so!
When love for solitude you show.
Change your career, become a busker,
Leave Woman your house and darling Fusker!
Though if living in your 'garage-flat'
You might need him as bold guard-cat!

( I'll try to be nice next time.....perhaps!)

Elaine x

Sorry James, but I couldn't resist this one!


THE PIG - anon

It was an evening in November,
As I very well remember.
I was strolling down the street in drunken pride,
And my knees were all a-flutter,
So I landed in the gutter,
And a pig walked up and laid down by my side.

Yes, I lay there in the gutter,
Thinking thoughts I could not utter,
When a colleen passing by did softly say,
"You can tell a man who boozes
By the company he chooses..."
At that the pig got up and walked away.

One for you Fusker

To A Cat (1st verse only)
Algernon Charles Swinburne

Stately, kindly, lordly friend,
Condescend
Here to sit by me, and turn
Glorious eyes that smile and burn,
Golden eyes, love's lustrous meed,
On the golden page I read.

She Dried Her Tears
Emily Bronte

She dried her tears and they did smile
To see her cheeks' returning glow
How little dreaming all the while
That full heart throbbed to overflow

With that sweet look and lively tone
And bright eye shining all the day
They could not guess at midnight lone
How she would weep the time away

"Back"
Wilfred Gibson

They ask me where I've been,
And what I've done and seen.
But what can I reply
Who know it wasn't I,
But someone just like me,
Who went across the sea
And with my head and hands
Killed men in foreign lands...
Though I must bear the blame,
Because he bore my name.

I Saw Thee Weep
Lord Byron

I saw thee weep---the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:
I saw thee smile---the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays
That filled that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.

Sudden Light
Dante Gabriel Rossetti

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,--
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow's soar
Your neck turn'd so,
Some veil did fall,--I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time's eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death's despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?

02/10/2009 10:06 -
Top Gear’s James May crashes airship.
A DT post to James,

So glad that you are OK.
What a coincidence! Do you know the exact same thing happened to me, except that seeing that I was about to descend rather too quickly, I, quick as a flash, whipped out my comb, bouffanted my hair and was able to cushion the impact thus preventing any lasting damage. (My colleagues have the cheek to say otherwise). Something to consider maybe, should you find yourself in the same situation again ;-)
Elaine x

THE WANDERER

The solitary looks for the favor of fortune,
For serene waters and a welcoming haven.
But his lot is to plough the wintry seas.
An exile's fate is decreed for him.

Each dawn stirs old sorrows.
The slaughter of lord, kin, village, and keep.
Best to swallow grief, to blot out memories.
Best to seal up the heart's wretchedness.

There is none with whom to speak,
No one alive who will understand.
Best to hide sorrow in one's chest.
The storms of fate suffice to busy me.

Years ago, I buried my master in the ground.
Grieving, I crossed winter seas seeking another:
A generous lord to share hall and treasure,
And I a friendless man seeking order anew.

But frostbite and hunger are my lot now.
My sleep is haunted by dreams of the past:
I kneel acknowledging my master's gift.
Gladly I accept a boon of gold in service.

Then the seabirds' shriek startles me.
I shiver in the dark dawn's frost and hail.
My heart recalls the image of my dream.
The pangs of sorrow and exile reawaken.

The present is overthrown by the past.
Rue rash youth's squandering of fortune.
All things dissipate like sea mist.
There is nothing to cling to but memories.

Is not the wise man's virtue patience?
Oaths and intemperance are follies.
The wise man guards his heart with caution.
The cheerful hall will be desolate in old age.

Everywhere the wind blows through empty ruins.
A few walls are left, covered with frost.
Unburied dead, once proud kin, lie wretched.
They are the sad prey of crows and wolves.

The lands were made desolate in a stroke.
Now the halls and remnants are silent.
Stonework empty, wealth dissipated:
Everywhere the same thing meets the eye.

Horse, rider, ring-giver, chalice,
High seats, hall-sounds -- where are they?
So asks my dark mind, full of grief.
Gone, as if never having been.

Storms blast the rocky cliffs.
Blizzards lash earth and sea.
Winter comes, darkness falls.
The world lies silent and empty.

No men or women to be found.
All in this life is suffering.
No good fortune to be expected.
No abode but a house of sorrow.

The wise man cloaks his heart:
Steadfastness and temperance.
He does well to dissemble his feelings.
Let his faith rest in that alone.

Evening Star

Edgar Allan Poe

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.

A Daughter of Eve

A fool I was to sleep at noon,
And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
A fool to snap my lily.

My garden-plot I have not kept;
Faded and all-forsaken,
I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept,
It's winter now I waken.

Talk what you please of future spring
And sun-warm'd sweet to-morrow:
Stripp'd bare of hope and everything,
No more to laugh, no more to sing,
I sit alone with sorrow.

Christina Georgina Rossetti