Poems of Passion | Page 5

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.
[Illustration: "THEY DRIFT DOWN THE HALL TOGETHER"]
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.
[Illustration:]
THROUGH THE VALLEY.
[AFTER JAMES THOMSON.]
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.
The rose, though still its blushing face?By bee and bird is seen,?May yet have lost that subtle grace--?That nameless spell the winds know?Which makes it garden's queen.
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.
[Illustration:]
[Illustration: A JUNE ROSE]
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.
As I love thee I never loved before;?Believe me, Guilo, for I speak