Heart of Snow, Edward Robert Hughes (1907)
Heart of Snow
Born to life as human from snow and ice
Of a mountain built on white purity
Never yielding to any mortal vice
That grows rampantly in any city
Here you are to be ever protected
You may as well been formed in simple brass
For how can your feelings be projected
When the high heat of desire comes to pass
Dire is your life for love you cannot feel
Your heart would rapidly turn to water
The moment you find your love is real
To this problem is there any answer
Created by man to place on the shelf
But in reality hurting them-self
Her eyes are with her thoughts and they are far away,
Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema(1897)
Thoughts on Love
Doth birth of love have a special season
I seek comforting warmth from love’s feeling
But being shunned I know not the reason
Thinking that I am not unappealing
Is it forces as the moon rules the sea
And changing winds control the ships of sail
How may I change forces I cannot see
To carve a path so that love may prevail
The Fates shall not control my destiny
For I wish to call on my own free will
Should love appear shall not hastily flee
Shall embrace it gently with fulsome thrill
But by the winds true love be blown my way
Without regret to the Fates I shall pray
Tea Leaves, Edward McGregor Paxton (1909)
The cup a symbol of her life, empty
She seeks someone deeper than just a friend
Always ever eager to down her tea
To find whatever new news leaves may send
Soon to be without a new tea to seek
Been told Earl Grey provides desired news
Swirled her cup the proper times, afraid to peek
Thinks be better to visit the church pews
Each Sunday she prayed as hard as she could
Not bashful to ask to become a wife
Wondered if her message misunderstood
Was she to be single all of her life
Sunday last felt a tap on her shoulder
Gentleman asked “could you slide over please”
After prayer she could not be bolder
No longer will she be reading tea leaves
Jo, the Beautiful Irish Girl, Gustave Courbet (1866)
Muse or Odalisque, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
The mirror shows the color of my hair,
But silent on my internal despair.
O but wishing this piece of glass could care,
As my quandary has been a nightmare.
With two so distinct can my love I share?
What I ask is it a request so rare?
Understanding it be an odd affair,
Yet to cast aside one would be unfair.
To make a choice of one my heart I’d tear.
A love of both no issues to declare.
Am able to withstand the wretched stare.
When Whistler or Courbet call I’ll be there.
Such arrangements are not so very quare.
Is it novel to have wife and affair?