A poem I'd forgotten

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.

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