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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384341" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Carlos</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Last night I knelt low at my lady’s feet.<br>One soft, caressing hand played with my hair, <br>And one I kissed and fondled. Kneeling there, <br>I deemed my meed of happiness complete.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She was so fair, so full of witching wiles –<br>Of fascinating tricks of mouth and eye; <br>So womanly withal, but not too shy –<br>And all my heaven was compassed by her smiles.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her soft touch on my cheek and forehead sent, <br>Like little arrows, thrills of tenderness<br>Through all my frame. I trembled with excess<br>Of love, and sighed the sigh of great content.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When any mortal dares to so rejoice, <br>I think a jealous Heaven, bending low, <br>Reaches a stern hand forth and deals a blow.<br>Sweet through the dusk I heard my lady’s voice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘My love! ’ she sighed, ‘my Carlos! ’ Even now<br>I feel the perfumed zephyr of her breath<br>Bearing to me those words of living death, <br>And starting out the cold drops on my brow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For I am Paul – not Carlos! Who is he<br>That, in the supreme hour of love’s delight, <br>Veiled by the shadows of the falling night, <br>She should breathe low his name, forgetting me? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I will not ask her! ‘Twere a fruitless task, <br>For, woman-like, she would make me believe<br>Some well-told tale; and sigh, and seem to grieve, <br>And call me cruel. Nay, I will not ask.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But this man Carlos, whosoe’er he be, <br>Has turned my cup of nectar into gall, <br>Since I know he has claimed some or all <br>Of these delights my lady grants to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He must have knelt and kissed her, in some sad<br>And tender twilight, when the day grew dim.<br>How else could I remind her so of him? <br>Why, reveries like these have made men mad! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He must have felt her soft hand on his brow.<br>If Heaven were shocked at such presumptuous wrongs, <br>And plunged him in the grave, where he belongs, <br>Still she remembers, though she loves me now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if he lives, and meet me to his cost, <br>Why, what avails it? I must hear and see<br>That curst name ‘Carlos’ always haunting me –<br>So has another Paradise been lost.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384341" data-title="Carlos de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="Last night I knelt low at my lady’s feet.
One soft, caressing hand played with my hair, 
And one I kissed and fondled. Kneeling there, 
I deemed my meed of happiness complete.

She was so fair, so full of witching wiles –
Of fascinating tricks..."></div>
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