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The Last Gift Post by :Jay_White Category :Poems Author :Helen Hay Whitney Date :October 2011 Read :1479

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The Last Gift

What shall I give to her who will not care
If I give soul or roses, will not know
How that, for sweets she'll spend, light smiles she'll sow,
I will reap bitter tears? If she could wear
Those tears as stars to sparkle in her hair!
What shall I give? I have not fall'n so low
I may not lay one gift before I go
Upon the altar of my heart's despair.

She will not know; yet, in my love a king,
I must be worthy of my crown and throne,
And so can sacrifice no little thing.
My life, my soul are worthless since her scorn.
Slay we then love on love's red altar-stone--
Beggared of all, I face the world forlorn.

(The end)
Helen Hay Whitney's poem: Last Gift

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Amor Mysticus Amor Mysticus

Amor Mysticus
Not you, nor all the gauds that Fate bestows, Can make me swerve so little from my dream. Across my veil of mystery you seem Perhaps a little dearer than the rose, Perhaps more fair than the long light that flows Between the lids of twilight. But the gleam Of iris on the breast of wisdom's stream Is of a radiance that no rival knows. My heart is not my heart, or it might chance To sorrow for the sorrow in your tears; My soul is locked against all circumstance

Not Dead But Sleeping Not Dead But Sleeping

Not Dead But Sleeping
And if I came, ah, if I came again, And laid my hand on your forgetful heart, Where once it lay so warm, could the pulse start, Remembering Spring? Now, at the sound of rain, I do but turn a little in disdain To see the flowers renew their lovely part, Blooming afresh. For memory holds no smart, Love aches no more to know how it was slain. Yet if I came to you who heed no more My name upon the wind? Love's ghost, lean near, I have