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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE, by WILLIAM ROSE BENET Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My love walks scatheless through the fire Last Line: Burns the supreme, surpassing flame! Subject(s): Passion | |||
My love walks scatheless through the fire. Yea, in the furnace of desire, Like its white core irradiate With impulse strong and passionate, My love uplifts a gloried face. Nor angels fail me in that place -- Such angels of supreme desire As walked by Shadrach in the fire! Before the golden shape of Lust I saw men prostrate in the dust; Homage like that of days long gone On Dura's plain by Babylon. Their wailing grows. Their breath comes sharp When sounds the shawm or twangs the harp, When cries the herald, "Lord is Lust! Bow down and worship in the dust!" The laughing fiend who bids this thing, Like as of old that evil king, Hath heard by night and heard by morn The challenge of mine utter scorn. Therefore from out his furnace I Must lift my hated voice to cry The passion that transcends this thing Wrought by Hell's old and evil king. My love walks scatheless through the fire. The angel of supreme desire. Stooped toward me through the thickening flame. The utter glory of his name Goes through me like a piercing sword. Purity's passion is my lord, Fashioned of far more pulsing fire Than gods of all abased desire. He looks aghast, their king, nor dares To hear me chant his quick despairs -- Great paeans that shake Heaven's glowing hall, Whence angels all antiphonal Sound harps of sudden storming bliss Shaken from Heaven's heart, that is Most passionate with love that dares Every disaster -- all despairs! Cleaving to one in whom it flowers, Higher and greater its glory towers; The passion of love's purity Reaching to Heaven in verity. Before their idols, smeared with dust, Grovel the little slaves of lust; But crowned with red immortal flowers Even to God's height Love's triumph towers! Laughing for Love's enduring name, This have I seen who walked the flame And step from out the furnace-blast Unscorched, unscathed. His face aghast, The laughing fiend can work no fear With quivering whispers in mine ear Of "passion." Fool! Round pure Love's name Burns the supreme, surpassing flame! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...APPULDURCOMBE PARK by AMY LOWELL FIVE ACCOUNTS OF A MONOGAMOUS MAN by WILLIAM MEREDITH ON PASSION AS A LITERARY TRADITION by JOHN CIARDI LES GRANDES PASSIONS MANQUEES by IRVING FELDMAN THE FALCONER OF GOD by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |
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