The Chatelaine

by | Aug 11, 2013 | Poetry | 0 comments

And who were you–a country girl
A social butterfly or churl?
On Brampton Ridge on a summer’s day
For ever youthful you would stay.
The artist was an earl, a Howard
Whose talent at the easel flowered.
Farmer’s daughter, the niece of an earl
Who held the artist in her spell?
Did you die young, grow old and grey
Whose secret’s ever locked away?
And would you rather no one knew
What one day would become of you?
Were your wounds untended red and raw
The workhouse opening like a maw?
Or did you live in grand estate
Liveried-footmen, at your pleasure, wait?
Be mistress of a stately home
Inspire an ardent lover’s poem?
Does your portrait hang at Castle Howard
A chatelaine grown so cold and proud?


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