American Literature · Classic · Collection · Erotica · Excerpt · Passage · Poetry

Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff

You, Beloved, are the silvery lake shimmering in the desert of my youth.
You only can allay the fever of my spirit!
On your lips I should drain the fountain of life.
On your white breast I shall breathe the perfume of numberless lilies.
Therein I shall die a thousand deaths and arise reborn in the awful splendor of your love….

—Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff, from “I Walk Alone,” The Book of Love. (Kessinger Publishing, LLC September 10, 2010) Originally published 1917.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s