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I know how, wasted, broken, The trusting heart learns its sad lesson o'er Counting the roses Passion's lips have spoken, Amid the thorns that pierce it to the core. Oh, heart of mine! that when life's summer hour For thee with love's bright blossoms hung the bough, Too quickly found an asp beneath the flower And is naught left thee but ambition now?
"When, lulled in passion's dream, my senses slept, How did I act? E'en as a wayward child. I smiled with pleasure when I should have wept, And wept with sorrow when I should have smiled." "Love not, love not! O warning vainly said In present years, as in the years gone by; Love flings a halo round the dear one's head, Faultless, immortal till they change or die."
Nay, gentlemen, your lances lower before it be too late; And let our foes their lances raise, in sign of passion's hate; Thus without blood accorded be a victory and defeat. 'Tis only bloodshed makes the one more bitter or more sweet, For arms or reason unavailing prove To curb the passions of a king in love."
There was no blazing up of passion's fire; rather was there an ever-increasing glow of the holiest affection, till at last it became a lamp by which I must guide my feet through life and death. This love of mine seemed not of earth but from the stars.
O thou, exaggerating blame for what befel, enough * I bear with patience whatsoe'er hath writ for me the Pen! I swear, by Allah, ne'er to find aught comfort for their loss; * "Tis oath of passion's children and their oaths are ne'er in vain. O Night! Salams of me to friends and let to them be known * Of thee true knowledge how I wake and waking ever wone."
Then, by way of subscription, he wrote, "From the distracted and despairing man * whom love and longing trepan * from the lover under passion's ban * the prisoner of transport and distraction * from this Kamar al-Zaman * son of Shahriman * to the peerless one * of the fair Houris the pearl-union * to the Lady Budur * daughter of King Al Ghayur * Know thou that by night I am sleepless * and by day in distress * consumed with increasing wasting and pain * and longing and love unfain * abounding in sighs * with tear flooded eyes * by passion captive ta'en * of Desire the slain * with heart seared by the parting of us twain * the debtor of longing bane, of sickness cup-companion * I am the sleepless one, who never closeth eye * the slave of love, whose tears run never dry * for the fire of my heart is still burning * and never hidden is the flame of my yearning."
Some tempting voice whispered to his inner realization that, should he pitch the battle on the plane of passion's attack, he could sweep her from her anchorage. To his mind she was more beautiful and desirable than Circe must have seemed to Ulysses, but like the great wanderer he battled against that voluptuous madness.
The iron pedestal of passion's throne was not yet shivered in the heart of Alvira, nor were tears a sign that the sun of grace had pierced the crystal vase of the worldly heart. Great will be the grace that will draw Alvira from the zenith of a golden dream in which a triumphant ambition has placed her above her sex, and great amongst the heroes of the manly sex she feigned.
He has gone into the trysting place, full of all desired bliss, O you with lovely hips delay no more O go forth now and seek him out, him the master of your heart, him endowed with passion's lovely form.
Some of her scenarios would have profoundly shocked the good people of Simsbury, and she often suffered tremors of apprehension at the thought that one of them might be enacted at the Bijou Palace right there on Fourth Street, with her name brazenly announced as author. Suppose it were Passion's Perils! She would surely have to leave town after that! She would be too ashamed to stay.
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