Poem: A Poet's £oves by Albert Owen

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Base in the world's eyes is the wretch
   Who when he kisses tells;
But poets must have bread and meat:
Verse packed with sighs and kisses sweet
   Is still the sort that sells;
So, shamelessly, I write of how
I kissed Miranda on the brow.

I've sung my love for Lalage
   And earned a fortnight's rent:
Bold Bertha, with the wicked eye,
Helped me some furniture buy.
   An ev'ning that I spent
With Mabel, when reduced to verse,
Put fifteen shillings in my purse.

Of how I cuddled Dorothy,
   And flirted with Chlorine,
And dallied for a while with Ruth,
I've written; but the painful truth
   Makes me look still more mean.
The plain, unvarnished fact is this --
Although I tell, I do not kiss!

First published in The Bulletin, 18 April 1918

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on August 25, 2012 10:09 AM.

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