Camilla

Camilla calls me heartless: hence you see
Logic in love has little part.
How can I otherwise than heartless be
Seeing Camilla has my heart?

Victor James Daley

Victor James Daley, born on 5 September 1858, was an Australian poet noted for his lyrical works. Daley’s publications, including his collection of poems

Victor James Daley

To My Lady

Victor James Daley, Simple Poetry

Fragment - Her Last Day

Victor James Daley, Simple Poetry

Death

Victor James Daley, Simple Poetry

The Dead Child

Victor James Daley, Simple Poetry

English

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Maxims

The heart is hard that cannot feel
The bruising of a light appeal.

The heart is deaf that cannot hear
The splashing of a tiny tear.

The heart is dumb that cannot say
God speed you, comrades, night and day.

The heart is blind that cannot see
The beckoning soul of mystery.

The heart is lame that cannot rise
From clamouring earth to silent skies.

And O that heart were better dead
That truckles to the prudent head.

John Le Gay Brereton

The Heart On The Sleeve

I wore my heart upon my sleeve,
Tis most unwise, they say, to do -
But then how could I but believe
The foolish thing was safe with you?
Yet, had I known, 'twas safer far
With wolves and tigers, the wild sea
Were kinder to it than you are -
Sweetheart, how you must laugh at me!

Yet am I glad I did not know
That creatures of such tender bloom,
Beneath their sanctuary snow,
Were such cold ministers of doom;
For had I known, as I began
To love you, ere we flung apart,
I had not been so glad a man
As holds his lady to his heart.

And am I lonely here to-night
With empty eyes, the cause is this,
Your face it was that gave me sight,
My heart ran over with your kiss.
Still do I think that what I laid
Before the altar of your face,<...

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Amabel

I marked her ruined hues,
Her custom-straitened views,
And asked, "Can there indwell
My Amabel?"

I looked upon her gown,
Once rose, now earthen brown;
The change was like the knell
Of Amabel.

Her step's mechanic ways
Had lost the life of May's;
Her laugh, once sweet in swell,
Spoilt Amabel.

I mused: "Who sings the strain
I sang ere warmth did wane?
Who thinks its numbers spell
His Amabel?" -

Knowing that, though Love cease,
Love's race shows undecrease;
All find in dorp or dell
An Amabel.

- I felt that I could creep
To some housetop, and weep,
That Time the tyrant fell
Ruled Amabel!

I said (the while I sighed
That love like ours had died),
"Fond things I'll no more tell
...

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Passion Flower

Choose who will the wiser part,
I have held her heart to heart;

And have felt her heart-strings stirred,
And her souls still singing heard

For one golden-haloed hour
Of Loves life the passion-flower.

So the world may roll or rest,
I have tasted of its best;

And shall laugh while I have breath
At thy dart and thee, O Death!

Victor James Daley

The Common Lot.

        It is a common fate - a woman's lot -
    To waste on one the riches of her soul,
        Who takes the wealth she gives him, but cannot
    Repay the interest, and much less the whole.

        As I look up into your eyes and wait
    For some response to my fond gaze and touch,
        It seems to me there is no sadder fate
    Than to be doomed to loving overmuch.

        Are you not kind? Ah, yes, so very kind -
    So thoughtful of my comfort, and so true.
        Yes, yes, dear heart; but I, not being blind,
    Know that I am not loved as I love you.

        One tenderer word, a little longer kiss,
    Will fill my soul with music and with song;
        And if you seem abstracted, or I miss
    The heart-tone from your voice, my worl...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

My Mistress Commanding Me To Return Her Letters.

So grieves th' adventurous merchant, when he throws
All the long toil'd-for treasure his ship stows
Into the angry main, to save from wrack
Himself and men, as I grieve to give back
These letters: yet so powerful is your sway
As if you bid me die, I must obey.
Go then, blest papers, you shall kiss those hands
That gave you freedom, but hold me in bands;
Which with a touch did give you life, but I,
Because I may not touch those hands, must die.
Methinks, as if they knew they should be sent
Home to their native soil from banishment;
I see them smile, like dying saints that know
They are to leave the earth and toward heaven go.
When you return, pray tell your sovereign
And mine, I gave you courteous entertain;
Each line received a tear, and then a kiss;
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Thomas Carew