I spoke of my father’s heroism in Sunday’s post. An unspoken heroism was his willingness to stay with and remain faithful to a woman he loved, but who did not love him “in that way” as she put it. The subject of unrequited passion, especially within a marriage, has always disturbed me. One of my favourite poems on the subject is “The Farmer’s Bride” by Charlotte Mew. The farmer tells how he married a young woman - “too young maybe” - and how she “turned afraid of love” and ran away. He brought her back home, where she keeps house for him but remains “as shy as a leveret” and shuns all male company, including his. The farmer’s love and hopeless frustration is shown in the final stanza, where his matter-of-fact narrative breaks down:“… ‘Tis but a stair
Betwixt us. Oh my God! The down
The soft young down of her, the brown,
The brown of her - her eyes, her hair, her hair!”
