University of Virginia Library

PASSION AND LOVE

SONNET VIII
I
PASSION

The sense of wrong in passion is the power
That lights all passion: 'tis the subtle charm
That makes so sweet the softness of smooth arm
And adds a magic to each swift night-hour.
It is the moon that lights the mystic bower
Of passion,—and the stars between the trees,—
And the strange glamour of the blue-haired seas;
It is that weirdly perfumed lurking flower.
It is the joy within the joy,—the sense
Of curious ecstasy beyond control,—
The unholy holy strength within the soul;
It is the vial of marvellous wine from whence
The red soft lingering honied round drops roll
That fill the human veins with fires intense.

SONNET IX
II
LOVE

The sense of right in love is the one thing
Within it sweetest and of deathless might:
Its self-denial gives it larger light
Than light of summer, or than light of spring.
The sense of duty plumes love's eagle wing
For loftier trackless leagues of sunlit flight:
The sense of duty is the golden ring
Whereby love weds the morn, and baulks the night.
Ah! passion's eyes are dark: but love's are grey,—
Clear-grey, like greyness of the English seas.
One lives within the noon-tide and the day:
The other 'mid the darkling olive-trees.
Both are most sweet: yet each in her own way;—
And when one comes, the other sister flees.