Poetry from Charlecote

The Warwick Words festival (“of literature and spoken word”) begins today! Feeling inspired by all of the literary events happening in our local area, we felt it appropriate to share with you this poem written by one of our volunteers, Frank…

In 2010 I was invited to write a poem for the ‘100 Verses’ event on the theme of ‘Home’. I pictured Mary Elizabeth, our Victorian Mistress of Charlecote, looking from the Library window awaiting guests for dinner.

M.E.L: My Carry

Tall chimneys silhouette against the western sky;

Windy gusts ripple Avon’s surface gliding by

To counter the current and rustle the waving sedge.

Through Willement’s glass, rays stain the carpet’s edge

And luce below in ambush awaits an unwary dace;

Starlings swoop and swerve, full of autumnal grace.

From the library window she looks across camp field

To Welcombe in the distance and to reminiscence yield.

Charlecote beloved brought her love and often tears;

Much cheerful gain and sad loss through the years;

That dreadful alpine journey and George her dearest love;

Young Reginald and—Carry; at rest in peace above!

 

“Carry, my Carry – my delicate summer flower;

A reed swayed by the wind that snapped in the final hour.

On evenings cool around the lake we walked

Arm in arm. Of India, love and peace we talked;

Picked morning blossom, the grass so damp with dew.

Carry, my Carry, there was so much of me in you.

 

My anxious fears when you married Powlett Lane;

I kept your bridal wreath. It reminds me of the pain.

I missed you so – you were too far from home

And your return prepared you for the tomb.

Carry, my Carry – now in Heaven’s realm secure

You rest in a Home far greater, that’s for sure!”

 

The sun has disappeared behind the Welcombe hill.

Save for the rustle of the sedge it is both quiet and still.

There’s a murmur in the Dinner Room – the guests are met;

The table with Storr’s cutlery all ready is and set.

She from the window turns and through the double door

Greets them with a gracious smile – no less, no more.

                                                                                                Frank Storr, Room Guide Volunteer

                                                                                               

 

 

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