Poems of Passion
1883
Published in 1883, 'Poems of Passion' is a collection of poetry by Ella Wheeler Wilcox that explores the complexities of love and the emotions tied to passionate relationships. The poems reflect on themes of joy, despair, and the bittersweet nature of romantic experiences. Wilcox's work resonated with readers of her time, despite its provocative title, and it remains notable for its candid exploration of love's various facets. The collection includes an introduction where Wilcox shares her inspiration and intent behind the poems.
Editions
X-Ray
“Laugh, and the world laughs with you;Weep, and you weep alone;For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,But has trouble enough of its own.””
— Ella Wheeler Wilcox
“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. You cannot grasp it””
— Ella Wheeler Wilcox
“To know for an hour you were mine completely --Mine in body and soul, my own --I would bear unending tortures sweetly,With not a murmur and not a moan.A lighter sin or a lesser errorMight change through hope or fear divine;But there is no fear, and hell has no terror,To change or alter a love like mine.””
— Ella Wheeler Wilcox
“After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires,There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin daysCrowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze,He beckons us to follow, and across Cool verdant vales we wander free from care. Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.””
— Ella Wheeler Wilcox
“IMPATIENCE. How can I wait until you come to me? The once fleet mornings linger by the way, Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee At my unrest; they seem to pause, and play Like truant children, while I sigh and say, How can I wait? How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours Refused to pause or loiter with me long; But now they idly fill their hands with flowers, And make no haste, but slowly stroll among The summer blooms, not heeding my one song, How can I wait? How can I wait? The nights alone are kind; They reach forth to a future day, and bring Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind; And time speeds by on light and airy wing. I feast upon your face, I no more sing, How can I wait?””
— Ella Wheeler Wilcox
