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The Clergyman’s First Tale: Love is Fellow-service

A youth and maid upon a summer night
Upon the lawn, while yet the skies were light,
Edmund and Emma, let their names be these,
Among the shrubs within the circling trees,
Joined in a game with boys and girls at play:
For games perhaps too old a little they;
In April she her eighteenth year begun,
And twenty he, and near to twenty-one.
A game it was of running and of noise;
He as a boy, with other girls and boys
(Her sisters and her brothers), took the fun;
And when her turn, she marked not, came to run,
‘Emma,’ he called, then knew that he was wrong,
Knew that her name to him did not belong.
Her look and manner proved his feeling true,
A child no more, her womanhood she knew;
Half was the colour mounted on her face,
Her tardy movement had an adult grace.
Vexed with himself, and shamed, he felt the more
A kind of joy he ne’er had felt before.

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poem by Arthur Hugh Clough from Mari Magno or Tales on Board
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To Emma

O come, dearest Emma! the rose is full blown,
And the riches of Flora are lavishly strown,
The air is all softness, and crystal the streams,
And the West is resplendently clothèd in beams.

We will hasten, my fair, to the opening glades,
The quaintly carved seats, and the freshening shades,
Where the faeries are chanting their evening hymns,
And in the last sunbeam the sylph lightly swims.

And when thou art weary I’ll find thee a bed
Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head;
There, beauteous Emma, I’ll sit at thy feet,
While my story of love I enraptured repeat.

So fondly I’ll breathe, and so softly I’ll sigh,
Thou wilt think that some amorous Zephyr is nigh-
Ah, no! - as I breathe, I will press thy fair knee,
And then thou wilt know that the sigh comes from me.

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poem by Byron (1815)
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The real evils, indeed, of Emma’s situation were the power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to her many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her.

Jane Austen in Emma (1816)
Added by Dan Costinaş
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Emma Squeekmire

A childhood friend named Emma Squeekmire
Was a mean little girl who liked playing with fire
One day Emma set our Grade School ablaze
With gasoline, a match and a jar of mayonnaise
It was clear her brain had gone severely haywire

(ROTMS)

poem by Ray Lucero
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Poem to my Dad

11/22/82
by Emma Beverage

They left him there
Like an empty shell
An empty shell - silent - still

They left him there
So we could stare
So we could stare
At this hollow shell

It looked like my dad
Had gone to sleep
Sleep, sleep, eternal sleep
Sleep that made my family weep

And as I stared, this thought grew
Thoughts would never - again pass through
My daddy’s head

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poem by Emma Beverage
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Emma Rose

Sweet tiny Emma Rose
lying there in silent repose.
You've come to grace the lives of all
who see you as they come to call.

Ebony hair and white porcelain skin
fits perfectly the body you're in.
Did you know the effect you'd bring
making everyone's heart just sing?

A lullaby of sweet delight
to keep you at peace on every night.
Skin as smooth as silk and cream,
to see you is to view a picture in a dream.

Sweet tiny Emma Rose
All will watch as she grows
into a beauty as glorious as the flower
from which she got her name.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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To Emma

Far away, where darkness reigneth,
All my dreams of bliss are flown;
Yet with love my gaze remaineth
Fixed on one fair star alone.
But, alas! that star so bright
Sheds no lustre save by night.

If in slumbers ending never,
Gloomy death had sealed thine eyes,
Thou hadst lived in memory ever--
Thou hadst lived still in my sighs;
But, alas! in light thou livest--
To my love no answer givest!

Can the sweet hopes love once cherished
Emma, can they transient prove?
What has passed away and perished--
Emma, say, can that be love?
That bright flame of heavenly birth--
Can it die like things of earth?

poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Mount Edgcumbe

Here the descendants of Bosworth Field
built their Eden from forest, bracken, heath;
bred partridge, pheasant, boar and deer,
then cast their shadow of darkening fear,
stretched out their hands
and filled their woods with death.

Built Tudor house and Tudor fort,
enclosed the land with Tudor thought.

Four hundred years from that to this
carefully constructed wilderness.
No man-traps now to stumble on,
the deer remain, the boars are long since gone.

The Tudor rides are proletarian walks
where we can wander where the next road forks,
through oak and elm and beech and ash,
through hyacinths and primulas,
daffodils and camellias.

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poem by Brian Taylor
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Heart's Day

we went on a picnic to the beach
with samsam, a local dog,
pret, my poodle, kuting, my japanese spitz,
bonbon, our dachshund

emma, my wife brought her favorite househelp named tatang,
marinel and gina, her friends cooked the potatoes
and prepared the sushi
jasmine rice that looked like tiny pearls
and pork barbecue

pret, my loyal poodle went with me walking
while kuting and bonbon played on the grass
barking and chasing some teasing finches

the air is cool
the sun not so bright at ten a.m.
clouds hang like soaked cottons
the sea is crystal clear like a mirror
the corals are visible

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lines Suggested By The Fourteenth Of February - II

Darkness succeeds to twilight:
Through lattice and through skylight
The stars no doubt, if one looked out,
Might be observed to shine:
And sitting by the embers
I elevate my members
On a stray chair, and then and there
Commence a Valentine.

Yea! by St. Valentinus,
Emma shall not be minus
What all young ladies, whate'er their grade is,
Expect to-day no doubt:
Emma the fair, the stately -
Whom I beheld so lately,
Smiling beneath the snow-white wreath
Which told that she was 'out.'

Wherefore fly to her, swallow,
And mention that I'd 'follow,'

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poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
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