A Confession

A Confession
by Agnes Louise Storrie (1865-1936)

See Bead Crochet







You did not know, - how could you, dear, -
How much you stood for? Life in you
Retained its touch of Eden dew,
And ever through the droughtiest year
My soul could bring her flagon here
And fill it to the brim with clear
Deep draughts of purity:
And time could never quench the flame
Of youth that lit me through your eyes,
And cozened winter from my skies
Through all the years that went and came.
You did not know I used your name
To conjure by, and still the same
I found its potency.
You did not know that, as a phial
May garner close through dust and gloom
The essence of a rich perfume,
Romance was garnered in your smile
And touched my thoughts with beauty, while
The poor world, wise with bitter guile,
Outlived its chivalry.
You did not know - our lives were laid
So far apart - that thus I drew
The sunshine of my days from you,
That by your joy my own was weighed
That thus my debts your sweetness paid,
And of my heart's deep silence made
A lovely melody.

Daisies

This bead is named for the poem,
Daisies by Evaleen Stein (1863-1923)

You can read more about Fashion Flower Beads at Beadshaper




Daisies

At evening when I go to bed
I see the stars shine overhead;
They are the little daisies white
That dot the meadow of the Night.

And often while I'm dreaming so,
Across the sky the Moon will go;
It is a lady, sweet and fair,
Who comes to gather daisies there.

For, when at morning I arise,
There's not a star left in the skies;
She's picked them all and dropped them down
Into the meadows of the town.

Dear Chains

This bead is named for the poem, Dear
Chains, by the Russian poet, Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837)


You can read more about the necklace at Beadshaper




Rose-maiden, no, I do not quarrel

With these dear chains, they don't demean.

The nightingale embushed in laurel,

The sylvan singers' feathered queen,

Does she not bear the same sweet plight?

Near the proud rose's beauty dwelling,

And with her tender anthems thrilling

The dusk of a voluptuous night.

You Smiled

This bead is named for the poem, You Smiled,
by Walter Savage Landor (1775-1864).

You can read more about the bead at Beadshaper

Incidentally, The Beadshaper is presenting her work Saturday and Sunday, Aug 6 and 7, at Ayla's Originals in Evanston, Illinois.


You smiled, you spoke and I believed,
By every word and smile- deceived.

Another man would hope no more;
Nor hope I- what I hoped before.

But let not this last wish be vain;
Deceive, deceive me once again!

Song: to Celia

by Ben Johnson (1572-1637)

Drink to me, only with thine eyes
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine:
But might I of Jove's nectar sup
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be
But thou thereon didst only breath
And sent'st it back to me:
Since, when it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee

The Beadshaper offers a flamework glass fashion fish bead named for the first line of the poem at Beadshaper

She is One Girl

.
.
.
.
.
This lampwork glass focal bead is named for an ancient Egyptian poem written 3000 years ago by an unknown poet. See Beadshaper
.
.
.
.
.
.

She is one girl, there is no one like her.
She is more beautiful than any other.
Look, she is like a star goddess arising
at the beginning of a happy new year;
brilliantly white, bright skinned;
with beautiful eyes for looking,
with sweet lips for speaking;
she has not one phrase too many.
With a long neck and white breast,
her hair of genuine lapis lazuli;
her arm more brilliant than gold;
her fingers like lotus flowers,
with heavy buttocks and girt waist.
Her thighs offer her beauty,
with a brisk step she treads on ground.
She has captured my heart in her embrace.
She makes all men turn their necks
to look at her.
One looks at her passing by,
this one, the unique one.

Without Warning

Without Warning
by the ancient Greek poet, Sappho.
.
.
.
.

Without warning
as a whirlwind
swoops on an oak
Love shakes my heart

See Beadshaper