Re: The poetry of Philip Britts

CHARM
 
It mattered not that she was fair
For youth is always fair to see.
Nor was it simply she was gay
For what so gay as youth can be?
And if she moved a queen among the girls
It was not by her coronet of curls.
But in some way she stood apart,
Some subtle virtue raised her high,
An inclination of the head,
A gleam within the eye.
You might have guessed them ermine
From the way she wore her clothes;
She picked the humble buttercup
As though it were a rose:
Charm followed her in every step,
She had a way of making gentle weather;
She stood amid the privet of the town
With that same grace she might have stood on heather.

Philip Britts, 1935


Bruderhof wrote:

> FOR A CRADLE
> 
> When I have grown to strength of heart and mind,
> Then let me still lie helpless on Thy knee,
> Still raise my empty hands towards Thy face,
> And let Thy love, alone, smile out from me.
> 
> I am but earth unless Thou work in me
> And make my earth bear fruit in every part,
> Wound me, then, deeply with Thy plough of love,
> And let there be no fallow in my heart.
> 
> Philip Britts, 1940
>