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1850–1919

GUILO.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Yes, yes! I love thee, Guilo; thee alone. Why dost thou sigh, and wear that face of sorrow? The sunshine is to-day's, although it shone On yesterday, and may shine on to-morrow.

I love but thee, my Guilo! be content; The greediest heart can claim but present pleasure. The future is thy God's. The past is spent. To-day is thine; clasp close the precious treasure.

See how I love thee, Guilo! Lips and eyes Could never under thy fond gaze dissemble. I could not feign these passion-laden sighs; Deceiving thee, my pulses would not tremble.

“So I loved Romney.” Hush, thou foolish one — I should forget him wholly wouldst thou let me; Or but remember that his day was done From that supremest hour when first I met thee.

“And Paul?” Well, what of Paul? Paul had blue eyes, And Romney gray, and thine are darkly tender! One finds fresh feelings under change of skies — A new horizon brings a newer splendor.

As I love thee I never loved before; Believe me, Guilo, for I speak most truly. What though to Romney and to Paul I swore The self-same words; my heart now worships newly.

We never feel the same emotion twice: No two ships ever ploughed the self-same billow; The waters change with every fall and rise; So, Guilo, go contented to thy pillow.

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GUILO. · Ella Wheeler Wilcox · Poetry Cove