Poems of Passion

'tis mine own.

Once more, in our love's sweet beginning, I put away God and the World; Once more, in the joys of our sinning, Are the hopes of eternity hurled. There is nothing my soul lacks or misses As I clasp the dream shape to my breast; In the passion and pain of her kisses Life blooms to its richest and best.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Life is too short for any vain regretting; Let dead delight bury its dead, I say, And let us go upon our way forgetting The joys and sorrows of each yesterday Between the swift sun's rising and its setting We have no time for useless tears or fretting: Life is too short.

You will forget me; will thank me for saying The words which you think are so pointed with pain. Time loves a new lay; and the dirge he is playing Will change for you soon to a livelier strain. I shall pass from your life—I shall pass out forever, And these hours we have spent will be sunk in the past. Youth buries its dead; grief kills seldom or never, And forgetfulness covers all sorrows at last.

You will forget me. The years are so tender, They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep; This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendor Fades from the skies when the sun sinks to sleep; The cloud of forgetfulness, over and over Will banish the last rosy colors away, And the fingers of time will weave garlands to cover The scar which you think is a life-mark to-day.