Auguste Toulmouche, Woman and Roses (1879)
The Rose and the Woman, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Before me is one of God’s creations.
Morning sun falls on this dainty cashmere.
Anchored by penetrating sensations,
Unable to move close because of fear.
Her tenderness is more worthy than mine,
By her regal stature she is the queen.
Her soft scent fills the nearby air sublime,
Without a doubt her beauty is pristine.
If possible it would be love for sure,
To protect from any harm comes her way.
No desire to overcome this allure,
So next to her I will forever stay.
As a rose I am grown to give pleasure,
With each lady that is my endeavor.
Daniel Ridgway Knight, Un Deuil (c. 1900)
Mourning, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
My soul is hardened and filled with anger,
Against the villain who came in the night,
Who did make for sure my love did not stir.
Now my weakened life is without its light.
Black is the color of the clothes I wear,
But nowhere near the darkness in my heart.
Many hang their heads after they did stare,
Thinking that I must soon find a new start.
To survive soon I did take another.
The shadow in my bed is a stranger.
His kisses are many yet taste bitter,
For my weary heart has yet to smolder.
In our life are we allowed but one love,
To seek a perfect match for our one glove?
Thomas Brooks, Thames Lilies (no date)
Thames Lilies, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Is it your current want to be swallowed?
As was the desirable Ophelia.
Many search for me when Cupid has failed,
Would be safer to pick a Camellia.
People assign to me pow’r I’m without,
Can’t again be your sign of purity.
Reaching for my stem confirms any doubt,
No harm is intended just said aptly.
Then there is the matter of estranged love,
A mere flower can’t undo the root cause.
If medicinal reason, try foxglove.
The problem do not pass, for it is yours.
If wish be to put me on your table,
For such a task I am truly able.
Auguste Toulmouche, Dolce far niente (1877)
Sweet Idleness, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Sweet idleness helps to improve my mind.
To read of others in their endeavor,
Of love, seeking two hearts to be entwined.
While I’m safe without fear of displeasure.
Tales of woe often fall on my deaf ears,
Of the flagrant straying of a lover.
None to date has yet to bring me to tears.
A small smile as my heart does not suffer.
Am I the fool for keeping my heart closed?
To having lived the feeling of heartache?
To live with tragedy with heart exposed?
To be captured by an ev’r charming rake?
None do I find the least bit amusing,
Nor the thought of me, a love pursuing.
Thomas Brooks, The Dawn of Love (1846)
The Dawn of Love, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Sitting peacefully here with you so near,
I gaze upon your virginal beauty,
Wondering if this feeling I should fear.
Has Cupid done his appointed duty?
What is it about you that gives such joy?
Be it the sound of your voice makes me meek?
Making my heart dance as a little boy.
Is it your love I unknowingly seek?
Your bluest eyes brighter than any sky,
Their twinkling puts this poor mind in a trance,
Making every thought of you start to fly.
But are we too young to think of romance?
Be sure that this heart has an open door,
With you it be love, willing to explore.
Thomas Brooks, The Stepping Stones (c. 1880)
The Stepping Stones, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Life, a real challenge at any age,
Even more so, for one as young as you.
There is no safety, if locked in a cage,
It will be wisdom that will guide you through.
Each stone before you is a test in life,
Focus on the stone which lies before you.
Have sound footing to avoid any rife,
For each stone forward make your step be true.
Be fair warned of a wavering heart,
As it can confuse a serious mind,
Bewildering all thinking from the start.
You must be forewarned that all love is blind.
Endearing as it is, may seal your fate,
Now hurry, he waits at the garden gate.
Daniel Ridgway Knight, Coup de vent (c. 1900)
Rain and Wind, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
Love the rain, for it makes the air so sweet.
Its tap on my umbrella is asking,
To come in, that we would formally meet,
And upon my face it would be basking.
But the angry wind, I do not care for,
Shoving, to where it chooses me to go.
I am glad when in sight of the front door,
Buffeted once more if I am too slow.
Inside I hear the patter of the rain,
Each drop searching for a way to sneak in.
Tired, I see it slide down the window pane.
The winds howls telling me that it will win.
I dare not ask that the wind to abstain,
As it pushes the clouds that carry rain.