T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
Boyhood
Anonymous(From The Point of View) WERE you to ask what age of womanhood | |
Brings most delight, producing most of good, | |
I should, to quote a phrase much used in rhyme, | |
“Turn back the leaflets in the Book of Time.” | |
To find the page, whereon, in letters bright, | 5 |
Is written clear, my first ecstatic night. | |
I was a boy attuned to passion’s strain, | |
I knew its music and I knew its pain, | |
I longed for—something—but, I was a boy; | |
I knew not how to change my pain to joy. | 10 |
But Heaven has given to earth, in its dire needs, | |
No sweeter thing than widows, in their weeds, | |
And in the household, where I ruled supreme, | |
A widow lived, a sorrowing, throbbing dream. | |
I was her comfort. Many times, at night, | 15 |
When I, awakened by some childish fright, | |
Cried out to her, she took me to her side, | |
And kissed me till my fears were pacified. | |
She was my confidant. My childish fears, | |
My hopes and dreams and all my boyish tears | 20 |
Found comfort sweet upon that loving breast | |
Where all perplexities were set at rest. | |
One night, worn out with tossing to and fro, | |
In longings vain which boyhood’s night must know, | |
I dared to make pretence of sudden fright, | 25 |
That I might see that figure, clad in white, | |
Come stealing to my side to whisper low: | |
“What makes my precious darling tremble so?” | |
All ye who cannot sympathize, stop here. | |
I speak in tenderness and hold most dear | 30 |
The memory of that sweet transition hour, | |
When Nature first revealed her wondrous power. | |
My heart still throbs as I remember when | |
I joined the ranks of sturdy little men. | |
I know not now, what courage made me dare, | 35 |
But, pillowed close, upon her bosom fair, | |
A truant hand went wandering far astray | |
And found—that night hath greater charms than day. | |
As mighty Mars, full statured, in an hour, | |
From great Athena’s helmet, in his power, | 40 |
Sprang forth full armoured, at the will of Jove, | |
So I sprang forth, equipped and armed for love. | |
With new-found strength, I ceased to be afraid | |
And something wild within would not be stayed. | |
Disarmed, perhaps, by hungry widowhood. | 45 |
She could not check me, even if she would | |
And kisses wild were riotously pressed | |
On starving lips too long left uncaressed, | |
And roses red, upon the white flesh burned, | |
The while she murmured: “Child! where have you learned?” | 50 |
I knew my madness, but my heart was fire | |
And all was swept away in my desire. | |
Her very gown of daintiest, filmiest lace, | |
Seemed cumbersome to me and out of place; | |
I reached and tore it, throat to hem, to find— | 55 |
How cruel Fate has been to those born blind. | |
For even the moonbeams, stealing through the bars, | |
Turned back to whisper to the twinkling stars, | |
And tip-toed out again to realms of space, | |
But left the memory of her blushing face. | 60 |
And when, at last, her beating heart stood still, | |
As though no more subservient to her will, | |
And when with fluttering breath, she closed her eyes, | |
I seemed to lose her, in a mist of sighs. | |
My senses swam as though a bursting star | 65 |
Had set on fire the cloudland realms afar, | |
For one brief moment, I was lost in fear | |
That all I held so passionately dear | |
Might chide me as she never had before, | |
And hold me in her clinging arms no more. | 70 |
I was a boy—unversed in Nature’s needs, | |
Unlearned of a widow’s ways, without their weeds. | |
She was not wanton. Nay! she was a woman. | |
Whose wakened, passionate heart was truly human. | |
And just when love was bursting into flower, | 75 |
The fates, relentless, sent her saddest hour, | |
And, torn apart, from all she held most dear, | |
Time’s healing touch had dried the falling tear. | |
She loved me. I could feel her bosom stir | |
And strive to soothe my turbulent thoughts of her. | 80 |
But boon companions who have loved for long, | |
Draw wavering lines betwixt the right and wrong. | |
And who shall say that love, new-born like this, | |
Must never know the madness of a kiss! | |
And who shall say it was her duty clear | 85 |
To let me find a different atmosphere | |
In which to learn the mysteries of the world, | |
Where unclad sin, in wicked eddies whirled! | |
I must not whisper, in a careless way, | |
The thoughts that came to me at dawn of day. | 90 |
And yet—when asked what age of womanhood | |
Brings most delight, producing most of good, | |
I turn to widowhood with tender touch, | |
And say: “Stop her, for widows know so much.” | |