O could one write as one makes love
when all is given and nothing kept,
then language might put by at last
its coy elisions and inept
withdrawals, yield, and yielding cast
aside like useless clothes the crust
of worn and shabby use, and trust
its candour to the urgent mind
its beauty to the searching tongue.

Gwen Harwood's work is defined by a moving sensuality, a twinkling irreverence and a sly wit. 

This anthology brings together the best 100 of her poems, as selected and compiled by her son, the writer John Harwood.