Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

I spin this yarn      from the stuff of yearning
soul’s own sorrow      I say this truly
since I grew from a girl      no greater torment
new or old      have I known than now
ever is acting      exile’s mood

first fled my husband      far from his people
over the calling waves      care dawned cold
for my absent lord      in lands unknown
then sore needing      spurred me forth
a friendless sojourner      to seek refuge
harsh his kinfolk’s      crafty thought
throve in secret      to thrust us apart
till widest reaches      of wanderer’s realms
sundered our sorrows
                                       and I longed

bade me my lord      to live in this place
far from my folk      this friendless land
had few loved ones      therefore mourns my heart
for finding of men      my best-matched mate
ill-starred      soul-moody
hoarding his mind      brooding murder
heart’s blitheness      oft boasted
that death only      would do us part
nothing else      all that is overcome
now is vanished      as it never were
our friendship together      far and near
must I bear the troubles      of my truelove’s feud
they forced me to dwell      in the forest grove
under the oaktree      above the cave
old is this earthhall      I ache with loving
dark in hollows      the hills watching
sharp are the hedges      sweet-briars writhe
a wicked place      oft here grips me hard
my husband’s flight      friends are there on earth
husband and wife      warm their bed
while I tread alone      the dawn hours
under the oak-tree      above the earth-cave
there may I sit       a summer-long day
there may I weep      a woman’s love
truest of labours      therefore may I never
ease my mind      of its mood’s calling
all the longing      that grips me in this life

must ever a young man      match his troubles
heart’s hard thought      with happy face
though he has besides      bitter breastcare
worms of sorrow      must he seek in himself
all his joy of the world      when he journeys far
in foreign climes      where sits my friend
by the sea’s edge      storm-tossed
weary of cliffs      the wave’s guest
                                                        in a frozen hall

has my friend      a heavy heart
remembers he often      our joyful hearth
woe is for him      who must ache for a loved one