I thought about posting some kiss-based poetry on the Spill when Maddy suggested it as a topic, but the blog was moving really fast that week and I didn't want to slow it down, so I've saved it for now. The first is by a little-known (at least here in the UK: US residents?) poet called Edna St Vincent Millay, who was a very bohemian and free-living woman: the second is by Sir Thomas Wyatt, a courtier from Tudor times, a genuine Renaissance man. The poem may or may not be about Anne Boleyn. Hope you like them!
'What lips have kissed my lips, and where, and why' What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands a lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet know its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
They Flee From Me That Sometime Did Me Seek
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot stalking in my chamber
I have seen them gentle tame and meek
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometimes they did put themselves in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range
Busily with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she caught me in her arms long and small;
And therewithal sweetly did me kiss,
And softly said, Dear heart, how like you this?
It was no dream, I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of foresaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness
And she also to use newfangleness.
But since so kindely I am served,
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
Thoughts, anyone? Bueller? Bueller?
A propos of bugger all, I thought you might like to have a look at this website, about a close ally of music, dancing. I answered the online questionnair and was slightly perturbed to realise the site owner was publishing the whole thing. He seems lovely and welcomes contributions, so feel free to bug him with your own answer!
http://history-is-made-at-night.blogspot.com
