Read Ebook: Poems of Passion by Wilcox Ella Wheeler

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Ebook has 421 lines and 31758 words, and 9 pages

POEMS OF PASSION

Love's Language Impatience Communism The Common Lot Individuality Friendship after Love Queries Upon the Sand Reunited What Shall We Do? "The Beautiful Blue Danube" Answered Through the Valley But One Guilo The Duet Little Queen Wherefore? Delilah Love Song Time and Love Change Desolation Isaura The Coquette Not Quite the Same New and Old From the Grave A Waltz-Quadrille Beppo Tired The Speech of Silence Conversion Love's Coming Old and New Perfectness Attraction Gracia Ad Finem Bleak Weather An Answer You Will Forget Me The Farewell of Clarimonde The Trio

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS

The Lost Garden Art and Heart Mockery As by Fire If I Should Die M?salliance Response Drought The Creed Progress My Friend Creation Red Carnations Life is Too Short A Sculptor Beyond The Saddest Hour Show Me the Way My Heritage Resolve At Eleusis Courage Solitude The Year Outgrows the Spring The Beautiful Land of Nod The Tiger Only a Simple Rhyme I Will Be Worthy of It Sonnet Regret Let Me Lean Hard Penalty Sunset The Wheel of the Breast A Meeting Earnestness A Picture Twin-Born Floods A Fable

The Poets Song Love and Memory Rejoice and Men Will Seek You Loves Language Love's Impatience The Common Lot Love Triumphant Cool, Verdant Vales The Old Delight that We Cast Away They Drift Down the Hall Together Answered But One A June Rose I Love Thee; Thee Alone The Duet Happiest Days in Our Lives A Dream Delilah The Milky Way Time and Love Desolation Tired of the Oft-read Story From the Grave Silver Bell in Steeple The Waltz-Quadrille The Burden of Dear Human Ties The Sea of Silence Across the Ocean Conversion Love's Coming Love and Life Attraction Bleak Weather Woodlands and Meadows Two Warm Hearts Together Love is Cold The Trio The Path I Longed to Climb Recollections M?salliance Day-Dreams Came, Desired and Welcomed, into Life Creation Red Carnations Beyond Across the Sea of Silence Solitude Light and Beauty Blessed the Land Beautiful Land of Nod Only a Simple Rhyme The Strife that Is Wearying Me Sunset The Wheel of the Breast A Picture A Fable

POEMS OF PASSION

LOVE'S LANGUAGE.

How does Love speak? In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek, And in the pallor that succeeds it; by The quivering lid of an averted eye-- The smile that proves the patent to a sigh-- Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak? In the avoidance of that which we seek-- The sudden silence and reserve when near-- The eye that glistens with an unshed tear-- The joy that seems the counterpart of fear, As the alarmed heart leaps in the breast, And knows and names and greets its godlike guest-- Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak? In the proud spirit suddenly grown meek-- The haughty heart grown humble; in the tender And unnamed light that floods the world with splendor; In the resemblance which the fond eyes trace In all fair things to one beloved face; In the shy touch of hands that thrill and tremble; In looks and lips that can no more dissemble-- Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak? In the wild words that uttered seem so weak They shrink ashamed to silence; in the fire Glance strikes with glance, swift flashing high and higher Like lightnings that precede the mighty storm; In the deep, soulful stillness; in the warm, Impassioned tide that sweeps through throbbing veins Between the shores of keen delight and pains; In the embrace where madness melts in bliss, And in the convulsive rapture of a kiss-- Thus doth Love speak.

IMPATIENCE.

How can I wait until you come to me? The once fleet mornings linger by the way, Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee At my unrest; they seem to pause, and play Like truant children, while I sigh and say, How can I wait?

How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours Refused to pause or loiter with me long; But now they idly fill their hands with flowers, And make no haste, but slowly stroll among The summer blooms, not heeding my one song, How can I wait?

How can I wait? The nights alone are kind; They reach forth to a future day, and bring Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind; And time speeds by on light and airy wing. I feast upon your face, I no more sing, How can I wait?

How can I wait? The morning breaks the spell A pitying night has flung upon my soul. You are not near me, and I know full well My heart has need of patience and control; Before we meet, hours, days, and weeks must roll. How can I wait?

How can I wait? Oh, love, how can I wait Until the sunlight of your eyes shall shine Upon my world that seems so desolate? Until your hand-clasp warms my blood like wine; Until you come again, oh, love of mine, How can I wait?

COMMUNISM.

When my blood flows calm as a purling river, When my heart is asleep and my brain has sway, It is then that I vow we must part forever, That I will forget you, and put you away Out of my life, as a dream is banished Out of the mind when the dreamer awakes; That I know it will be, when the spell has vanished, Better for both of our sakes.

When the court of the mind is ruled by Reason, I know it is wiser for us to part; But Love is a spy who is plotting treason, In league with that warm, red rebel, the Heart. They whisper to me that the King is cruel, That his reign is wicked, his law a sin; And every word they utter is fuel To the flame that smoulders within.

And on nights like this, when my blood runs riot With the fever of youth and its mad desires, When my brain in vain bids my heart be quiet, When my breast seems the centre of lava-fires, Oh, then is the time when most I miss you, And I swear by the stars and my soul and say That I will have you and hold you and kiss you, Though the whole world stands in the way.

And like Communists, as mad, as disloyal, My fierce emotions roam out of their lair; They hate King Reason for being royal; They would fire his castle, and burn him there. Oh, Love! they would clasp you and crush you and kill you, In the insurrection of uncontrol. Across the miles, does this wild war thrill you That is raging in my soul?

THE COMMON LOT.

It is a common fate--a woman's lot-- To waste on one the riches of her soul, Who takes the wealth she gives him, but cannot Repay the interest, and much less the whole.

As I look up into your eyes and wait For some response to my fond gaze and touch, It seems to me there is no sadder fate Than to be doomed to loving overmuch.

Are you not kind? Ah, yes, so very kind-- So thoughtful of my comfort, and so true. Yes, yes, dear heart; but I, not being blind, Know that I am not loved as I love you.

One tenderer word, a little longer kiss, Will fill my soul with music and with song; And if you seem abstracted, or I miss The heart-tone from your voice, my world goes wrong.

And oftentimes you think me childish--weak-- When at some thoughtless word the tears will start; You cannot understand how aught you speak Has power to stir the depths of my poor heart.

I cannot help it, dear,--I wish I could, Or feign indifference where I now adore; For if I seemed to love you less you would, Manlike, I have no doubt, love me the more.

'Tis a sad gift, that much applauded thing, A constant heart; for fact doth daily prove That constancy finds oft a cruel sting, While fickle natures win the deeper love.

INDIVIDUALITY.

O yes, I love you, and with all my heart; Just as a weaker woman loves her own, Better than I love my beloved art, Which, till you came, reigned royally, alone, My king, my master. Since I saw your face I have dethroned it, and you hold that place.

I am as weak as other women are: Your frown can make the whole world like a tomb; Your smile shines brighter than the sun, by far. Sometimes I think there is not space or room In all the earth for such a love as mine, And it soars up to breathe in realms divine.

I know that your desertion or neglect Could break my heart, as women's hearts do break. If my wan days had nothing to expect From your love's splendor, all joy would forsake The chambers of my soul. Yes, this is true. And yet, and yet--one thing I keep from you.

There is a subtle part of me, which went Into my long pursued and worshipped art; Though your great love fills me with such content No other love finds room now, in my heart. Yet that rare essence was my art's alone. Thank God, you cannot grasp it; 'tis mine own.

You cannot grasp it. Seize the breath of morn Or bind the perfume of the rose, as well. God put it in my soul when I was born; It is not mine to give away, or sell, Or offer up on any altar shrine. It was my art's; and when not art's, 'tis mine,

For love's sake I can put the art away, Or anything which stands 'twixt me and you. But that strange essence God bestowed, I say, To permeate the work He gave to do: And it cannot be drained, dissolved, or sent Through any channel save the one He meant.

FRIENDSHIP AFTER LOVE.

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires, There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days, Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes and torments and desires, Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze He beckons us to follow, and across Cool, verdant vales we wander free from care. Is it a touch of frost lies in the air? Why are we haunted with a sense of loss? We do not wish the pain back, or the heat; And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

QUERIES.

Well, how has it been with you since we met That last strange time of a hundred times? When we met to swear that we could forget-- I your caresses, and you my rhymes-- The rhyme of my lays that rang like a bell, And the rhyme of my heart with yours, as well?

How has it been since we drank that last kiss, That was bitter with lees of the wasted wine, When the tattered remains of a threadbare bliss, And the worn-out shreds of a joy divine, With a year's best dreams and hopes, were cast Into the rag-bag of the Past?

Since Time, the rag-buyer, hurried away, With a chuckle of glee at a bargain made, Did you discover, like me, one day, That, hid in the folds of those garments frayed, Were priceless jewels and diadems-- The soul's best treasures, the heart's best gems?

Have you, too, found that you could not supply The place of those jewels so rare and chaste? Do all that you borrow or beg or buy Prove to be nothing but skilful paste? Have you found pleasure, as I found art, Not all-sufficient to fill your heart?

Do you sometimes sigh for the tattered shreds Of the old delight that we cast away, And find no worth in the silken threads Of newer fabrics we wear to-day? Have you thought the bitter of that last kiss Better than sweets of a later bliss?

What idle queries!--or yes or no-- Whatever your answer, I understand That there is no pathway by which we can go Back to the dead past's wonderland; And the gems he purchased from me, from you, There is no rebuying from Time, the Jew.

UPON THE SAND.

All love that has not friendship for its base Is like a mansion built upon the sand. Though brave its walls as any in the land, And its tall turrets lift their heads in grace; Though skilful and accomplished artists trace Most beautiful designs on every hand, And gleaming statues in dim niches stand, And fountains play in some flow'r-hidden place:

Yet, when from the frowning east a sudden gust Of adverse fate is blown, or sad rains fall, Day in, day out, against its yielding wall, Lo! the fair structure crumbles to the dust. Love, to endure life's sorrow and earth's woe, Needs friendship's solid mason-work below.

REUNITED.

Let us begin, dear love, where we left off; Tie up the broken threads of that old dream, And go on happy as before, and seem Lovers again, though all the world may scoff.

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