Pride and Poetry: A Regency Romp by Harlowe Anne

Author:Harlowe, Anne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: EKP
Published: 2024-01-04T00:00:00+00:00

You Have Got Me to a ‘T’

Lacy stayed shut in his study for days, though this time Lilian did not worry about it—well, not too much. She was rather disappointed that he did not even come down for dinner, asking instead for something to be sent up to Poet’s Corner. One night, he didn’t even come to bed, but ‘burned his midnight taper’ as the poet Byron has it. But it was all in a good cause and she was looking forward to the outcome—what were his words: a sonnet that is “true to who you are”.

Next day, he appeared at breakfast looking worn and pale, but radiantly happy.

“I’ve pulled it off!” he said simply.

Lilian, glad to see him, looked up and smiled.

“Listen,” he said.

“Why don’t you take some breakfast first, Frederick?”

He shook his head. “No, I must hear what you think of my sonnet,” he said. “I think it is the best thing I have written so far. In it, I try to describe everything about your appearance and personality that makes me love you, and I think I’ve done it—more or less. Listen:

Why do you fascinate me so? Is it your eyes’

Bright brown gleam? It’s true they softly shine

Like stars that glisten in night’s darkened skies

But that which moves my heart is more divine.

Was it your lips? Did their soft sweetness start

This feeling in my breast? Was it your hair?

Your voice, your smile, your kiss that moved my heart

Or was it something deeper and more rare?

It was your personality, so bright,

Your happiness in life, which, like a sun

That never sets, is my eternal light:

In most, when youth’s flower fades it’s quickly gone.

Its glory quenched in cynicism’s night,

But your youth will eternally live on.

He was silent for a long time after he had finished, and Lilian was silent too. She simply didn’t know what to say. Of course, to her it was wonderful, moving, the finest thing she had ever heard, but she was all too aware that she was judging it as his loving wife and not as a critical fellow poet.

“Don’t you see!” enthused Lacy, “it is written in the modern style with the octet and the sestet. The imagery is more powerful than anything I have written before: stars in night’s darkened skies, your personality like a sun, youth’s flower!”

Lilian rose with tears in her eyes and kissed him, then said, “It is wonderful! If it is any criteria of excellence, it is the most moving poem I have ever heard, but as for the form and the imagery, I am no judge.”

“Thank you for those words,” said Lacy, “you have no idea how much they mean to me. But you are right, of course. I must seek a professional opinion.”

Having come to this decision, it seemed that his Muse ceased to torment him for a while, and he surveyed the breakfast table with relish.

“Ah, kippers!” he said, and added with a smile, “I feel as though I haven’t had a decent meal for days!”

“That’s because you haven’t!” laughed Lilian.

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