Lesbia Harford: Verses about Fire

Flowers have uncountable ways of pretending to be
Not solid, but moonlight or sunlight or starlight with scent.
Primroses strive for the colour of sunshine on lawns
Dew-besprent.
Freesias are flames wherein light more than heat is desired,
As candles on altars burn amethyst, golden and white.
Wall-flowers are sun streaked with shade. Periwinkles blue noon
At the height.

When I get up to light the fire,
And dress with all the speed I may
By candle-light, I dread the hours
That go to make a single day.
But then I leave my room, and see
How brightly, clearly darkness shines,
When stars ten thousand miles away
Are caught in our verandah vines.
And I am almost glad that fires
Have to be lit, before the day
Comes up between the trees and drives
The strange familiar dark away.

I'm like all lovers, wanting love to be
A very mighty thing for you and me.
In certain moods your love should be a fire
That burnt your very life up in desire.
The only kind of love then to my mind
Would make you kiss my shadow on the blind
And walk seven miles each night to see it there,
Myself within, serene and unaware.
But you're as bad. You'd have me watch the clock
And count your coming while I mend your sock.
You'd have my mind devoted day and night
To you and care for you and your delight.
Poor fools, who each would have the other give
What spirit must withhold if it would live.
You're not my slave, I wish you not to be.
I love yourself and not your love for me,
The self that goes ten thousand miles away
And loses thought of me for many a day.
And you loved me for loving much beside
But now you want a woman for your bride.
Oh, make no woman of me, you who can,
Or I will make a husband of a man.
By my unwomanly love that sets you free
Love all myself, but least the woman in me.