A poem from James Farrar


Blackthorn (James Farrar)

They cannot have her for lover,

The lean brown southerly sprites

Who trade sweet breath for blossom

In star-pale April nights.

Though the cherry, our lady of splendour,

Exquisitely fallen from grace,

Goes forth in white for their lover

In every woodland place;

And the wind-flirt apple, too eager

For innocence when they came,

Paint the dim skies of daybreak

With her gypsy buds of shame-

They cannot have her for lover,

The ice-white wanton sloe,

For she sells her kisses to winter

Whether they come or no.

(James Farrar1943)

About allatsea

Sixty year old master-mariner. Absolutely gorgeous. Well wedged.....when compared to a Nairobi street urchin. Sorted, in that I haven't been in court recently. Hopelessly optimistic, terminally disappointed. Good with cats and other fluffy things. No musical talent. Generous to a fault provided it's someone else's round. Political centreist with far right and left viewpoints. A green activist from the hydrocarbon position with nuclear leanings. Averse to avarice but always happy to receive lottery wins, gifts, windfalls, legacies, prizes and wet sloppy kisses.
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