Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Reach out your arms, and hold me close and fast.
Tell me there are no memories of your past
That mar this love of ours, so great, so vast.
Some truths are cheapened when too oft averred.
Does not the deed speak louder than the word?
(dear God, that old dream woke again and stirred.)
As you love me, you never loved before?
Though oft you say it, say it yet once more.
My heart is jealous of those days of yore.
Sweet wife, dear comrade, mother of my child,
My life is yours by memory undefiled.
(it stirs again, that passion brief and wild.)
You never knew a happier hour than this?
We two alone, our hearts surcharged with bliss,
Nor other kisses, sweet as my own kiss?
I was a thirsty field, long parched with drouth;
You were the warm rain, blowing from the south.
(But, ah, the crimson madness of her mouth!)
You would not, if you could, go down life’s track
For just one little moment and bring back
Some vanished rapture that you miss or lack?
I am content. You are my life, my all.
(One burning hour, but one, could I recall;
God, how men lie when driven to the wall!)
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Comments about this poem (At Bay by Ella Wheeler Wilcox )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
- mai venn
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(3 June 1926 – 5 April 1997)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(15 April 1931)
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- After a Death , Tomas Tranströmer
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Dreams, Langston Hughes