I am a great admirer of John Masefield and his work, and particularly his sonnets. There are some, however, which seem just a little self-indulgent, if I might say that about such a consummate writer as Masefield. He had such a keen appreciation of beauty, and had from an early age found something almost mystical in it, and was a great romantic too. As a boy he suffered greatly, he lost both his parents when he was only young, had an unsympathetic aunt looking after him, and then went to see while still a teenager. However, sometimes to me, his sonnets have such a youthful tone, that they seem almost melodramatic, and naive… I’m sure there are many, many people who would disagree with me!
Not for the anguish suffered is the slur,
Not for the women’s mocks, the taunts of men,
No, but because you never welcomed her,
Her of whose beauty I am only the pen.
There was a dog, dog-minded, with dog’s eyes,
Damned by a dog’s brute-nature to be true,
Something within her made his spirit wise,
He licked her hand, he knew her, not so you.
When all adulterate beauty has gone by,
When all inanimate matter has gone down,
We will arise and walk, that dog and I,
The only two who knew her in the town,
We’ll range the pleasant mountains side by side,
Seeking the blood-stained flowers where Christs have died.
Lois Elsden 