Poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Romney

Nay, Romney, nay-I will not hear you say
    Those words again: "I love you, love you sweet!"
    You are profane---blasphemous. I repeat,
You are no actor for so grand a play.

You love with all your heart? Well, that may be;
    Some cups are fashioned shallow. Should I try
    To quench my thirst from one of those, when dry---
I who have had a full bowl proffered me---

A new bowl brimming with a draught divine,
    One single taste thrilled to the finger-tips?
    Think you I even care to bathe my lips
With this poor sweetened water you call wine?

And though I spilled the nectar ere 'twas quaffed,
    And broke the bowl in wanton folly, yet
    I would die of my thirst ere I would wet
My burning lips with any meaner draught.

So leave me, Romney. One who has seen a play
    Enacted by a star cannot endure
    To see it rendered by an amateur.
You know not what Love is---now go away! 

1. The Birth of the Orchid
2. The Black Charger
3. All the World
4. At Set of Sun
5. The Call (All wantonly in hours of joy)

Print

1306 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version