Poem by Charlotte Mew

From a Window

Up here, with June, the sycamore throws
Across the window a whispering screen;
I shall miss the sycamore more I suppose,
Than anything else on this earth that is out in green.
But I mean to go through the door without fear,
Not caring much what happens here
When I’m away: --
How green the screen is across the panes
Or who goes laughing along the lanes
With my old lover all the summer day. 

1. The Cenotaph
2. Monsieur Qui Passe
3. Ken
4. I Have Been Through The Gates
5. Rooms

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