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Title: Of The Flesh
Author: Cale Young Rice [
More Titles by Rice]
(At Monte Carlo)
We met upon the street;
Quick passion sprung into the eye of each;
No dilettante heat!
For though I do not love her now, beseech
You, signor, do you think
We could face so in any spot, nor fear
To leap the fatal brink
Into each other's arms--that, once a-near,
Hell's self could make us shrink?
No, no! Such love as ours
Stabbed peace heart-deep and burnt the flesh to mad.
It scorned the simple powers
Of sympathy and mild repose, and had
One thirst alone--to hold
Each other mouth to still unsated mouth
Until, perchance, the cold
And damp of death should end some night its drouth.
But only day would come,
Unlock our arms and show us duty's eye
Calm, pale, and sternly dumb.
And so we'd swear never to kiss or sigh
Again--for well we knew
God grants such boons only to man and wife.
But night distilled the dew
Of loneliness--and so, once more, that life.
And how was the spell burst?
Each long embrace seemed sweeter than the last;
Each dulling heart-beat nurst
The shame, until I tore me from the past,
And cried, "I hate my soul,
And thine and this false love!" She fainted--fell.
I kissed her lips ... stole
The ring that choked her finger ... said farewell.
And since then Time has pressed
Ten restless years. But if I saw her lay
Her hand upon her breast,
As once she used, and send her soul to say
A word with those dark eyes ...
Ha, what is that, signor? "Respect?... My wife?"
That's as may be. You rise?
Adieu, signor. Fate deals the cards in life.
[The end]
Cale Young Rice's poem: Of The Flesh
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