Charlotte Mew was an English poet who was born in 1869 and spent much of her life grappling with loss and illness. She published her first poems in her mid-20s and also published several short stories. Her work is well-regarded for its honesty and lack of pretension.
‘A Quoi Bon Dire’ by Charlotte Mew, explores the process of aging and deals with topics such as loss and death. Here’s a complete analysis.
Seventeen years ago you said
Something that sounded like Good-bye;
And everybody thinks that you are dead,
But I.
‘The Changeling’ by Charlotte Mew is a unique poem told from the perspective of a child who thinks she’s a fairy and longs to return to the fairy world.
Toll no bell for me, dear Father, dear Mother,
Waste no sighs;
There are my sisters, there is my little brother
Who plays in the place called Paradise,
Fin de Fête by Charlotte Mew is a love poem that depicts the depths and the sorrows of thwarted love.
Sweetheart, for such a day
One mustn’t grudge the score;
Here, then, it’s all to pay,
It’s Good-night at the door.
‘I so liked Spring’ by Charlotte Mew is a two-stanza work that uses the immature stance of the narrator’s romantic interest.
This year’s a different thing, –
I’ll not think of you.
But I’ll like the Spring because it is simply Spring
As the thrushes do.
‘Rooms’ by Charlotte Mew explores confinement and longing for freedom, reflecting personal tragedies and a desire for release in death.
I remember rooms that have had their part
In the steady slowing down of the heart.
‘The Farmer’s Bride’ by Charlotte Mew portrays a tragic tale of a young bride’s fear and a farmer’s obsession.
Three summers since I chose a maid,
Too young maybe—but more’s to do
At harvest-time than bide and woo.
When us was wed she turned afraid
‘The Trees Are Down’ by Charlotte Mew is a poem about her reaction to the cutting down of the great plane trees at Euston Square Garden in the 1920s.
They are cutting down the great plane-trees at the end of the gardens.
For days there has been the grate of the saw, the swish of the branches as they fall,
The crash of the trunks, the rustle of trodden leaves,
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