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I was going through my library the other day and I stumbled upon this tiny leaflet, tucked in a book by Francis Cornford. It's a poem written by his wife, Frances Cornford, probably her most famous poem, which I transcribed, back at the time, from God-knows-where, as tracking down her poetry volumes in dead tree format turned out to be unexpectedly difficult.
I figured you folks may want to hear it, too. It's called The Guitarist Tunes Up.
With what attentive courtesy he bent
Over his instrument;
Not as a lordly conqueror who could
Command both wire and wood,
But as a man with a loved woman might
Inquiring with delight
What slight essential things she had to say
Before they started, he and she, to play.
A great piece!
That brings joy
A truly beautiful poem.
I didn't know the artist nor the poem, thanks for the sharing pal!