________________________________________________
Title: Mrs. Grundy
Author: Walter De la Mare [
More Titles by De la Mare]
"Step very softly, sweet Quiet-foot,
Stumble not, whisper not, smile not:
By this dark ivy stoop cheek and brow.
Still even thy heart! What seest thou?..."
"High-coifed, broad-browed, aged, suave yet grim,
A large flat face, eyes keenly dim,
Staring at nothing--that's me!--and yet,
With a hate one could never, no, never forget ..."
"This is my world, my garden, my home,
Hither my father bade mother to come
And bear me out of the dark into light,
And happy I was in her tender sight.
"And then, thou frail flower, she died and went,
Forgetting my pitiless banishment,
And that Old Woman--an Aunt--she said,
Came hither, lodged, fattened, and made her bed.
"Oh yes, thou most blessed, from Monday to Sunday,
Has lived on me, preyed on me, Mrs. Grundy:
Called me, 'dear Nephew'; on each of those chairs
Has gloated in righteousness, heard my prayers.
"Why didst thou dare the thorns of the grove,
Timidest trespasser, huntress of love?
Now thou hast peeped, and now dost know
What kind of creature is thine for foe.
"Not that she'll tear out thy innocent eyes,
Poison thy mouth with deviltries.
Watch thou, wait thou: soon will begin
The guile of a voice: hark!..." "Come in, Come in!"
[The end]
Walter De la Mare's poem: Mrs. Grundy
________________________________________________
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
