Love in the Nineteen-Thirties

ROSE OF SUMMER

Three months ago when I was young
I had a rose of wondrous hue;
Within my heart of hearts it grew,
Its fragrance o'er my senses hung-
That rose, it was my love for you!
Then autumn came: my rose did droop;
Approached the snows, its sun above
Departed as a wayward dove.
Now o'er its grave with tears I stoop;
To dig the grave to hide, I stoop,
The withered petals of my love!

©Lorna Whitelaw, 1932
top

HISTORY TO DATE

Love snuck up behind on a midsummer day
And arrested my mind in an unforseen way,
And he captured my heart-but he had the wrong key:
And I saw him depart in a shower. Ah, me!

©Lorna Whitelaw, 1940

WRITE OFTEN, DARLING!

Oh, bind me closely with your love,
and let your letters be the cords;
for oh! you seem so far away
that I can scarce remember you
as flesh and blood and warmth and light;
or are you but a dream of joy
from which I've waked to find it night?

Send letters then, like torches bright
to pierce my darkness, ere the dawn
of your dear presence comes again.
Your absence leaves me cold and numb:
Oh, let your throbbing, pulsing words,
transfused on paper to my heart
revitalize and thrill once more!

My darling, reach your hand to me
across the miles and hold me tight!
I miss your shoulder for my head,
I miss your arms and lips tonight;
I miss your tender, whispered words,
your eyes of love, your hands' caress-
I miss you more than words can tell!
Oh, write me in my loneliness!

©Lorna Whitelaw/Anderson, 1941
top