I am reading through poetry in a pair of anthologies I’d found at the library…here’s one, the first in the book.
From Love Sonnets of Proteus
by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
I see you, Juliet, still, with your straw hat Loaded with vines, and with your dear pale face, On which those thirty years so lightly sat, And the white outline of your muslin dress. You wore a fichu trimmed with lace And crossed in front, as was the fashion then, Bound at your waist with a broad band or sash, All white and fresh and virginally plain. There was a sound of shouting far way Down in the valley, as they called to us, And you, with hands clasped seeming to pray Patience of fate, stood listening to me thus With heaving bosom. There a rose lay curled. It was the reddest rose in all the world. from The Oxford Book of 20th Century Verse (1973)