This week: Mary Elizabeth Coleridge Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady
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Death and the Lady
by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Turn in, my lord, she said ;
As it were the Father of Sin
I have hated the Father of the Dead,
The slayer of my kin ;
By the Father of the Living led,
Turn in, my lord, turn in.
We were foes of old ; thy touch was cold,
But mine is warm as life ;
I have struggled and made thee loose thy hold,
I have turned aside the knife.
Despair itself in me was bold,
I have striven, and won the strife.
But that which conquered thee and rose
Again to earth descends ;
For the last time we have come to blows.
And the long combat ends.
The worst and secretest of foes,
Be now my friend of friends.
On September 23, 1861 in London England, Arthur Duke Coleridge and his wife Mary Anne Jameson welcomed daughter Mary Elizabeth Coleridge into the world. Arthur was a clerk of the crown and Mary Anne was the eldest daughter of James Jameson of Dublin. The family was fairly well off and Coleridge spent a lot of her childhood traveling. Throughout her travels London always remained her home. She was educated at home by William Cory, a friend of her father's. Coleridge showed signs of a literary gift at a very young age.
By the time Coleridge was twenty, she had started writing for the Monthly Packet, Merry England. In 1893 her 1st novel, The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, was published, but it only achieved scant success. Her first volume of poetry, Fancy's Following, was published in 1896. Coleridge never published her poems under her own name, she used anonymously or under the name "Anodos". Her second novel, The King with Two Faces, was published in 1897. It was met with more success than her first novel. Coleridge was not consumed with writing and spent most of her time teaching working women in her own home and at the Working Women's College. Coleridge published The Fiery Dawn, in 1901; Followed by The Shadow on the Wall in 1094 and in 1906 The Lady on the Drawing-room Floor. She also wrote a critical preface to Canon Dixon's Last Poems in 1905.
Mary Elizabeth Coleridge died on August 25 1907, from complications from appendicitis. Coleridge never married. She wrote over a hundred poems during her writing career and Henry Newbolt edited and had them published in "Poems" in 1908.
The Other Side of a Mirror
by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
I sat before my glass one day,
And conjured up a vision bare,
Unlike the aspects glad and gay,
That erst were found reflected there -
The vision of a woman, wild
With more than womanly despair.
Her hair stood back on either side
A face bereft of loveliness.
It had no envy now to hide
What once no man on earth could guess.
It formed the thorny aureole
Of hard, unsanctified distress.
Her lips were open - not a sound
Came though the parted lines of red,
Whate'er it was, the hideous wound
In silence and secret bled.
No sigh relieved her speechless woe,
She had no voice to speak her dread.
And in her lurid eyes there shone
The dying flame of life's desire,
Made mad because its hope was gone,
And kindled at the leaping fire
Of jealousy and fierce revenge,
And strength that could not change nor tire.
Shade of a shadow in the glass,
O set the crystal surface free!
Pass - as the fairer visions pass -
Nor ever more return, to be
The ghost of a distracted hour,
That heard me whisper: - 'I am she!'
After St. Augustine
by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Sunshine let it be or frost,
Storm or calm, as Thou shalt choose;
Though Thine every gift were lost,
Thee Thyself we could not lose.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
A frozen halo glows softly
Above a wild white terrain
Glittering snow dances sweetly
Under the star light's reign
Placidity hangs heavy
In the somber midnight air
High upon the alpine
Above the hamlet square
Here there's no decorations
Hanging in the trees
No voices carrying sweet carols
like in the borough's streets
Not a sign or symbol
On this winter solstice night
But it can still be felt
That Christmas is in sight.
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Poetry: December 29, 2021 Issue [#11147]
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