LOVE is not passion; nor is passion love.
The two are twined together in some wise.
Love, spiritual, cometh from the skies,
Ennobles life and lifts our thoughts above.
Passion we find oft lurking in some grove,
Where pleasant sights draw forth our pleasing cries,
And where some bird of plumage round us flies,
While we, half knowing, through the shadows rove.
Yet, with these two, we find ourselves on earth.
One seldom doth the other disengage.
Strange combination of life’s heaven and hell!
That giveth unto man his power of birth,
And causeth him to claim his parentage
Whenever, or where he may chance to dwell.
LX
WHAT subtle fragrance, like some passion flower,
Lurks in the petals of thy love for me,
That seemeth every day more sweet to be,
Thou beautiful example of the power
That nature hath, with loveliness to shower
Her favored ones? I would that I might see,
In those blue eyes that show so much of thee,
Some deeper color, given as a dower.
Yet ne’er lose hope, my heart. Thou shalt succeed,
So thou persist in thy true quest, until
All barriers opposing thee do fall.
Ah, then in vain no longer shalt thou plead!
But of love’s welcome draft drink to thy fill,
And, in that hour, know life doth give thee all.
LXI
UNTO the sea my love I would compare,
That shineth first beneath the morning sun,
And danceth with its beams, as if for fun.
Then as the clouds would turn them to despair,
The beams soon disappear upon the air,
Like fairy jewels, that away would run.
Then, as their beauty doth its surface shun,
It heaves as if it doth some sorrow share.
Far down the sea of mine own love doth sink;
But, soon returning on itself, a wave
Of real emotion rolleth o’er my heart;
And all that thou hast been to me, I think,
Is like some treasure I must strive to save,
And guard thee well, so thou canst ne’er depart.
LXII
THERE is a lovely avenue of trees,
That winds its way o’er many a meadow-land,
And leads in time to the salt sea and sand,
Where I have walked and felt the summer breeze
Waft the sweet air that fans with perfect ease
The trembling leaves, the ferns on every hand;
A place wherein might sport some fairy band,
And in their gaiety my fancy seize.
In some such place would I find love awaiting,
Ready to guide me by the trickling brooks,
And lead me to some soft and rustic lair.
With thee, my well-beloved, would I be mating
(Like birds in springtime ’neath the shaded nooks),
The vision of thy love to my despair!
LXIII
UPON the highland spaces greet me, Love,
And with the fir and hemlock all around thee,
Twine thy fair self about my soul, and be
Therein the wood-nymph of my rustic grove.
Now dost thou fly towards me like some sweet dove,
Lighting from branch to branch, and willingly,
A group of blossoms bringing unto me
From the ethereal atmosphere above.
’Tis in the air of nature then that we
Find through its simple pleasure love’s delight,
Free from the turmoil that doth find its birth
In following the paths that others see.
Then would the stars illuminate the night,
And turn to Heaven the very things of earth.