The Base Of Love Is Friendship

A Japanese Camellia, or "Rose of Winter", at Butchart Gardens
Brentwood Bay, British Columbia, Canada

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'd like to share a poem from one of my favorite poets, Ella Wheeler Wilcox:

Upon The Sand

All love that has not friendship for its base,

Is like a mansion built upon the sand.

Though brave its walls as any in the land,

And its tall turrets lift their heads in grace;

Though skillful and accomplished artists trace

Most beautiful designs on every hand,

And gleaming statues in dim niches stand, 

And mountains play in some flow'r-hidden place:

Yet, when from the frowning east a sudden gust

Of adverse fate is blown, or sad rains fall

Day in, day out, against its yielding wall,

Lo! the fair structure crumbles to the dust.

Love, to endure life's sorrow and earth's woe,

Needs friendship's solid masonwork below.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
2024: This Is Talladega
2023: Sorry, no post on this day.
2022: Sorry, no post on this day.
2021: Sorry, no post on this day.
2020: Sorry, no post on this day.
2019: Be Anything, But Be Mine
2018: Comfortable Love
2017: I Heart Cats
2016: Sweet And Undefinable
2015: Grand And Important
2014: Winter Is A Table Set With Ice And Starlight
2013: The Romance Of The Road
2012: Celebrate With A Wild Desire
2011: Powerful Stuff
2010: Falling In Love With Ugly 
2009: A Love Like This Can Know No Death 
2008: Peace To This House
2007: The Sultan Of Love 
2006: It’s Even Better Than Arbor Day
2005: Sorry, no post on this day. The blog didn’t start until May 2005!

Celebrate With A Wild Desire

A poem for Valentine's Day written by my favorite Victorian Era poet, Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

I Love You
I love your lips when they’re wet with wine
And red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
Lit with a passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm white flesh
Touches mine in a fond embrace;
I love your hair when the strands enmesh
Your kisses against my face.

Not for me the cold calm kiss
Of a virgin’s bloodless love;
Not for me the saint’s white bliss,
Nor the heart of spotless dove.
But give me the love that so freely gives
And laughs at the whole world’s blame,
With your body so young and warm in my arms,
It sets my poor heart aflame.

So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,
Still fragrant with ruby wine,
And say with a fervor born of the South
That your body and soul are mine.
Clasp me close in your warm young arms,
While the pale stars shine above,
And we’ll live our whole young lives away
In the joys of a living love.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Powerful Stuff
2 YEARS AGO: Falling In Love With Ugly
3 YEARS AGO: A Love Like This Can Know No Death
4 YEARS AGO: Peace To This House
5 YEARS AGO: The Sultan Of Love
6 YEARS AGO: It’s Even Better Than Arbor Day

Living Deliberately But Not Without Scars

This is from my favorite poet, Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Life's Scars

They say the world is round, and yet
I often think it square,
So many little hurts we get
From corners here and there.
But one great truth in life I've found,
While journeying to the West -
The only folks who really wound
Are those we love the best.

The man you thoroughly despise
Can rouse your wrath, 'tis true;
Annoyance in your heart will rise
At things mere strangers do;
But those are only passing ills;
This rule all lives will prove;
The ranking wound which aches and thrills
Is dealt by hands we love.

The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face,
Are given to our own.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.

Love does not grow on every tree,
Nor true hearts yearly bloom.
Alas for those who only see
This cut across a tomb!
But, soon or late, the fact grows plain
To all through sorrow's test:
The only folks who give us pain
Are those we love the best.

I feel this poem ties in to this fantastic post from my friend in Italy, which focuses on loved ones not being supportive or encouraging, and not really providing unconditional love when it comes to the choices that are made for your own life. And as Michelle said, "some of your loved ones not only won't get it, they won't even care to try."

Our loved ones are really the only ones who have the power to hurt us the most. I think all of us know that first hand. So I guess we all need to try to "care enough to try".


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Maybe They Just Don’t Like Oklahomans
2 YEARS AGO: Mexico? Derecho.
3 YEARS AGO: Juxtaposition
4 YEARS AGO: Eddie Sports Pigtails Friday
5 YEARS AGO: Gambling Under The Big Sky
6 YEARS AGO: Sleeping Beauty

A Love Like This Can Know No Death

I've used her poems in other posts and although I haven't read a whole lot of poetry, I still claim her to be my favorite. Here is another fabulous poem, in honor of Valentine's Day, written by Ella Wheeler Wilcox:

AD FINEM

On the white throat of the useless passion
That scorched my soul with its burning breath,
I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion,
And gathered them close in a grip of death;
For why should I fan, or feed with fuel,
A love that showed me but blank despair?
So my hold was firm, and my grasp was cruel--
I meant to strangle it then and there!

I thought it was dead. But with no warning,
It rose from its grave last night, and came
And stood by my bed till the early morning,
And over and over it spoke your name.
Its throat was red where my hands had held it,
It burned my brow with its scorching breath;
And I said, the moment my eyes beheld it,
"A love like this can know no death."

For just one kiss that your lips have given
In the lost and beautiful past to me,
I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven
And all the bliss of Eternity.
For never a joy are the angels keeping
To lay at my feet in Paradise,
Like that of into your strong arms creeping,
And looking into your love-lit eyes.

I know, in the way that sins are reckoned,
This thought is a sin of the deepest dye;
But I know, too, if an angel beckoned,
Standing close by the Throne on High,
And you, adown by the gates infernal,
Should open your loving arms and smile,
I would turn my back on things supernal,
To lie on your breast a little while.

To know for an hour you were mine completely--
Mine in body and soul, my own--
I would bear unending tortures sweetly,
With not a murmur and not a moan.
A lighter sin or a lesser error
Might change through hope or fear divine;
But there is no fear, and hell has no terror
To change or alter a love like mine.

It's Even Better Than Arbor Day

Valentine's Day is my favorite holiday. I don't really know why, but I've loved it since I was a little girl. My first Valentine came from my father; cards, candy and flowers, every year. It has always been, other than my birthday, my favorite special event. Some of you may be interested in the history of Valentine's Day; not many people know how it really began.

Even when I didn't have a boyfriend, I would celebrate the day with my friends. We would often commiserate over not having a guy, yet we still enjoyed a great dinner and each other's company. The love of friends is as important to me as that of a partner.

One woman, whose writing always seems to blow me away, is Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Even in the 1800's she was way ahead of her time, with her writing being so timeless, much of it could have been written today. For Valentine's Day, I'd like to share one of her poems with you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
LOVE

In all earth's music, grand, or sweet, or strong,
To hear one name, as if 'twere set in song.

In all my poems, written 'neath the sun,
To find the praises, o'er and o'er, in one.

To feel thyself a lesser part of what
Hadst thou not found, the earth would be as naught.

To think all beauty, perfectness and grace,
As but the shadow of one worshiped face.

With that face's coming, to bask in warmth and light
And with its going to grope, as in the night.

To rather feel a dear hand's stinging blow
Than any caress another might bestow.

To rather sit in gloom, and hear one voice
Than, missing that, on mountain tops rejoice.

To lose all individual hope and aim,
And have no wish, but for another's fame.

To count grief naught, though great, if one is glad.
To feel no joy if that dear one is sad.

Do thy heart strings, responsive, answer this?
Then thou hast known true love in all its bliss.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Happy Valentine's Day to my family, my friends and of course my sweet, sweet Eddie.

Love's Language

From my favorite poet, Ella Wheeler Wilcox:

Love's Language

How does Love speak?
In the faint flush upon the telltale cheek,
And in the pallor that succeeds it; by
The quivering lid of an averted eye--
The smile that proves the parent to a sigh
Thus does Love speak.

How does Love speak?
By the uneven heart-throbs, and the freak
Of bounding pulses that stand still and ache,
While new emotions, like strange barges, make
Along vein-channels their disturbing course;
Still as the dawn, and with the dawn's swift force--
Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak?
In the avoidance of that which we seek--
The sudden silence and reserve when near--
The eye that glistens with an unshed tear--
The joy that seems the counterpart of fear,
As the alarme'd heart leaps in the breast,
And knows, and names, and greets its godlike guest--
Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak?
In the proud spirit suddenly grown meek--
The haughty heart grown humble; in the tender
And unnamed light that floods the world with splendor;
In the resemblance which the fond eyes trace
In all fair things to one belove'd face;
In the shy touch of hands that thrill and tremble;
In looks and lips that can no more dissemble--
Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak?
In the wild words that uttered seem so weak
They shrink ashamed to silence; in the fire
Glance strikes with glance, swift flashing high and higher,
Like lightnings that precede the mighty storm;
In the deep, soulful stillness; in the warm,
Impassioned tide that sweeps through throbbing veins,
Between the shores of keen delights and pains;
In the embrace where madness melts in bliss,
And in the convulsive rapture of a kiss--
Thus does Love speak.