Poems of Passion | Page 3

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.
[Illustration:]
[Illustration: COMMON LOT]
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.
Thank God, I say, for while I love you so,?With that vast love, as passionate as tender,?I feel an exultation as I know?I have not made you a complete surrender.?Here is my body; bruise it, if you will,?And break my heart; I have that something still.
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