Poetry Archives

O love, do not call me a star!
’Tis too cold and bright, and too far
Away from your arms; I would be,
The life drops that flow in your veins,
The pulses that throb in your heart.
My bosom should be the warm sea
Of forgetfulness, tinged with the stains
Of the sunset, when day-dreams depart;
You should drink at its fountain of kisses,
Drink mad of its fathomless deep;

Submerged in an ocean of blisses,
I’d be something to kiss and to keep.
Loving, and tender, and true,
I’d be nearer, oh! nearer to you
Than the glittering meteors are;
Then, love, do not call me a star.
                                        REVENITA.