Poetry Archives

O! take your pale camellias back;
  Their soft leaves, waxen white
And odorless, too ill accord
  With my dark mood to-night.

I do not want your hot-house flowers,
  They’re like the love you give—
A something tame and passionless
  That breaths but does not live.

You take my hand as though you feared
  Your clasp were over-bold,
Your kiss falls light at flake of snow,
  And just as calm and cold.

I’d rather have your hatred
  Than this lifeless loving claim,
If your heart beat one throb faster
  At mention of my name.

Leave me, and bind those soulless leaves
  A calmer brow above;
I cannot wear your flowers to-night—
  I do not want your love.