Read Ebook: Poems of Passion by Wilcox Ella Wheeler

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Ebook has 421 lines and 31758 words, and 9 pages

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.

Let us forget the graves which lie between Our parting and our meeting, and the tears That rusted out the gold-work of the years, The frosts that fell upon our gardens green.

Let us forget the cold, malicious Fate Who made our loving hearts her idle toys, And once more revel in the old sweet joys Of happy love. Nay, it is not too late!

Forget the deep-ploughed furrows in my brow; Forget the silver gleaming in my hair; Look only in my eyes! Oh! darling, there The old love shone no warmer then than now.

Down in the tender deeps of thy dear eyes I find the lost sweet memory of my youth, Bright with the holy radiance of thy truth, And hallowed with the blue of summer skies.

Tie up the broken threads and let us go, Like reunited lovers, hand in hand, Back, and yet onward, to the sunny land Of our To Be, which was our Long Ago.

WHAT SHALL WE DO?

Here now forevermore our lives must part. My path leads there, and yours another way. What shall we do with this fond love, dear heart? It grows a heavier burden day by day.

Hide it? In all earth's caverns, void and vast, There is not room enough to hide it, dear; Not even the mighty storehouse of the past Could cover it from our own eyes, I fear.

Drown it? Why, were the contents of each ocean Merged into one great sea, too shallow then Would be its waters to sink this emotion So deep it could not rise to life again.

Burn it? In all the furnace flames below, It would not in a thousand years expire. Nay! it would thrive, exult, expand, and grow, For from its very birth it fed on fire.

Starve it? Yes, yes, that is the only way. Give it no food, of glance, or word, or sigh; No memories, even, of any bygone day; No crumbs of vain regrets--so let it die.

"THE BEAUTIFUL BLUE DANUBE."

They drift down the hall together; He smiles in her lifted eyes; Like waves of that mighty river, The strains of the "Danube" rise. They float on its rhythmic measure Like leaves on a summer-stream; And here, in this scene of pleasure, I bury my sweet, dead dream.

Through the cloud of her dusky tresses, Like a star, shines out her face, And the form his strong arm presses Is sylph like in its grace. As a leaf on the bounding river Is lost in the seething sea, I know that forever and ever My dream is lost to me.

And still the viols are playing That grand old wordless rhyme; And still those two ate swaying In perfect tune and time. If the great bassoons that mutter, If the clarinets that blow, Were given a voice to utter The secret things they know,

Would the lists of the slam who slumber On the Danube's battle-plains The unknown hosts outnumber Who die 'neath the "Danube's" strains? Those fall where cannons rattle, 'Mid the rain of shot and shell; But these, in a fiercer battle, Find death in the music's swell.

With the river's roar of passion Is blended the dying groan; But here, in the halls of fashion, Hearts break, and make no moan. And the music, swelling and sweeping, Like the river, knows it all; But none are counting or keeping The lists of these who fall.

ANSWERED.

Good-bye--yes, I am going. Sudden? Well, you are right; But a startling truth came home to me With sudden force last night. What is it? Shall I tell you? Nay, that is why I go. I am running away from the battlefield Turning my back on the foe.

Riddles? You think me cruel! Have you not been most kind? Why, when you question me like that, What answer can I find? You fear you failed to amuse me, Your husband's friend and guest, Whom he bade you entertain and please-- Well, you have done your best. Then why am I going? A friend of mine abroad, Whose theories I have been acting upon, Has proven himself a fraud. You have heard me quote from Plato A thousand times no doubt; Well, I have discovered he did not know What he was talking about.

You think I am speaking strangely? You cannot understand? Well, let me look down into your eyes, And let me take your hand. I am running away from danger; I am flying before I fall; I am going because with heart and soul I love you--that is all. There, now you are white with anger; I knew it would be so. You should not question a man too close When he tells you he must go.

THROUGH THE VALLEY.

As I came through the Valley of Despair, As I came through the valley, on my sight, More awful than the darkness of the night, Shone glimpses of a Past that had been fair, And memories of eyes that used to smile, And wafts of perfume from a vanished isle, As I came through the valley.

As I came through the valley I could see, As I came through the valley, fair and far, As drowning men look up and see a star, The fading shore of my lost Used-to-be; And like an arrow in my heart I heard The last sad notes of Hope's expiring bird, As I came through the valley.

As I came through the valley desolate, As I came through the valley, like a beam Of lurid lightning I beheld a gleam Of Love's great eyes that now were full of hate. Dear God! Dear God! I could bear all but that; But I fell down soul-stricken, dead, thereat, As I came through the valley.

BUT ONE.

The year has but one June, dear friend; The year has but one June; And when that perfect month doth end, The robin's song, though loud, though long, Seems never quite in tune.

Life's perfect June, love's red, red rose, Have burned and bloomed for me. Though still youth's summer sunlight glows; Though thou art kind, dear friend, I find I have no heart for thee.

GUILO.

Yes, yes! I love thee, Guilo; thee alone. Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow? The sunshine is to-day's, although it shone On yesterday, and may shine on to-morrow.

I love but thee, my Guilo! be content; The greediest heart can claim but present pleasure. The future is thy God's. The past is spent. To-day is thine; clasp close the precious treasure.

See how I love thee, Guilo! Lips and eyes Could never under thy fond gaze dissemble. I could not feign these passion-laden sighs; Deceiving thee, my pulses would not tremble.

"So I loved Romney." Hush, thou foolish one-- I should forget him wholly wouldst thou let me; Or but remember that his day was done From that supremest hour when first I met thee.

"And Paul?" Well, what of Paul? Paul had blue eyes, And Romney gray, and thine are darkly tender! One finds fresh feelings under change of skies-- A new horizon brings a newer splendor.

We never feel the same emotion twice: No two ships ever ploughed the self-same billow; The waters change with every fall and rise; So, Guilo, go contented to thy pillow.

THE DUET.

I was smoking a cigarette; Maud, my wife, and the tenor, McKey, Were singing together a blithe duet, And days it were better I should forget Came suddenly back to me-- Days when life seemed a gay masque ball, And to love and be loved was the sum of it all.

As they sang together, the whole scene fled, The room's rich hangings, the sweet home air, Stately Maud, with her proud blond head, And I seemed to see in her place instead A wealth of blue-black hair, And a face, ah! your face--yours, Lisette; A face it were wiser I should forget.

We were back--well, no matter when or where; But you remember, I know, Lisette. I saw you, dainty and debonair, With the very same look that you used to wear In the days I should forget. And your lips, as red as the vintage we quaffed, Were pearl-edged bumpers of wine when you laughed.

Two small slippers with big rosettes Peeped out under your kilt skirt there, While we sat smoking our cigarettes And singing that self-same an, And between the verses, for interlude, I kissed your throat and your shoulders nude.

You were so full of a subtle file, You were so warm and so sweet, Lisette; You were everything men admire, And there were no fetters to make us tire, For you were--a pretty grisette. But you loved, as only such natures can, With a love that makes heaven or hell for a man.

LITTLE QUEEN.

Do you remember the name I wore-- The old pet-name of Little Queen-- In the dear, dead days that are no more, The happiest days of our lives, I ween? For we loved with that passionate love of youth That blesses but once with its perfect bliss-- A love that, in spite of its trust and truth, Seems never to thrive in a world like this.

I lived for you, and you lived for me; All was centered in "Little Queen;" And never a thought in our hearts had we That strife or trouble could come between. What utter sinking of self it was! How little we cared for the world of men! For love's fair kingdom and love's sweet laws Were all of the world and life to us then.

But a love like ours was a challenge to Fate; She rang down the curtain and shifted the scene; Yet sometimes now, when the day grows late, I can hear you calling for Little Queen; For a happy home and a busy life Can never wholly crowd out our past; In the twilight pauses that come from strife, You will think of me while life shall last.

And however sweet the voice of fame May sing to me of a great world's praise, I shall long sometimes for the old pet-name That you gave to me in the dear, dead days; And nothing the angel band can say, When I reach the shores of the great Unseen, Can please me so much as on that day To hear your greeting of "Little Queen."

WHEREFORE?

Wherefore in dreams are sorrows borne anew, A healed wound opened, or the past revived? Last night in my deep sleep I dreamed of you; Again the old love woke in me, and thrived On looks of fire, and kisses, and sweet words Like silver waters purling in a stream, Or like the amorous melodies of birds: A dream--a dream!

Again upon the glory of the scene There settled that dread shadow of the cross That, when hearts love too well, falls in between; That warns them of impending woe and loss. Again I saw you drifting from my life, As barques are rudely parted in a stream; Again my heart was torn with awful strife: A dream--a dream!

Again the deep night settled on me there, Alone I groped, and heard strange waters roll, Lost in that blackness of supreme despair That comes but once to any living soul. Alone, afraid, I called your name aloud-- Mine eyes, unveiled, beheld white stars agleam, And lo! awake, I cried, "Thank God, thank God! A dream--a dream!"

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