DAY DREAMS
DAY DREAMS
RUDOLPH VALENTINO
(TO M.)
The serenade of a thousand years ago
The song of a hushed lip
Lives forever in the glass of today
Wherein we see the reflection of it
If we but brush away
The cobwebs of a doubting faith.
Published by
MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, Inc.
New York
1923
Copyright, 1923
BY
RUDOLPH VALENTINO
Printed
in U. S. A.
To J. C. N. G.
MY FRIENDS HERE AND THERE
INTRODUCTION
I can not tell a rondelay
In words of yesterday
I can not tell a couplet
For words come as they may.
I’ll do my best—I’ll try a bit
Of ultra-modern rhyme
And cast aside the shackles
Binding “Once upon a time.”
PREFACE
TO you,
my gentle reader, I wish to say a foreword of warning before you
peruse the contents of this book. I am not a poet nor a scholar,
therefore you shall find neither poems nor prose. Just dreams—Day
Dreams—a bit of romance, a bit of sentimentalism, a bit of philosophy,
not studied, but acquired by constant observation of that greatest of
masters!... Nature!
While lying idle, not through choice, but because forcibly kept from my
preferred and actual field of activity, I took to dreams to forget the
tediousness of worldly strife and the boredom of jurisprudence’s
pedantic etiquette.
Happy indeed I shall be if my Day Dreams will bring you as much
enjoyment in the reading as they brought to me in the writing.
Rudolph Valentino
New York—May 29th, 1923.
CONTENTS
DAY DREAMS
THE GIFT BOOK
(To J. R.)
A book is a kindly gracious thing.
Each has a particular gift to bring.
It may be the wealth
Of a wonderful life,
Or the thrilling adventure
Of Jungle strife.
Perhaps it’s a present
Of orient gold,
Tales of Aladdin
Enchantingly told.
Maybe a view
Of olden days,
Knighthood—Romance,
Flowery ways.
And again a journey
To lands afar,
Where strange things happen,
And wonders are.
All of them—Gift books
But plainly I see,
Not one of them holds
The gift for me.
I want a book
That will lazily roam
Down the dear Pathway
To Folks back home.
NATURE
Nature is the open book
Wherein the truths of the world are found
Nature is an endless story
Of never changing glory
When you study nature your teacher is God
So always let your reference be
This Greatest of Masters.
THE LOVE CHILD
(To B.)
Don Juan roamed the summer sky
A shady cloud of gray
But this dull attire
Hid a heart of fire
In quest of romance stray.
Vision
A lovely golden sunbeam
Shining from above
Came radiant by
And caught the eye
Of this vagabond of love.
Delusion
In wild tempestuous wooing
He kissed her heart away
All in a jest
It was the quest
Of the cloud on a summer’s day.
Conclusion
Through tears the sunbeam glimmered
Then happily she smiled
The tempest passed
Alone at last
With a little rainbow child.
Dawn runs in a crimson streak
Across a leaden sky—
Just like a pulsing vein of life
An artery of love not strife
And it livens the heavens high.
So in our sky today it seems,
No sign of life we see.
Do we not know,
Night’s bound to go,
Dawn follows instantly.
If it were not for the showers, where
would the rainbows be?
HEART FLOWER
O lovely rose
Within whose chalice lies
The heart of my true love,
Did not the gods in benediction stoop
To bless thee from above?
And place within thy roseate lips
The rubies counterpart.
I found it there
A jewel rare
The flower of thy heart.
YOU
Your Eyes
Your Eyes,
Mystic pools
Of beauteous light.
Golden brown
In color
Deep,
Yet, amber clear.
Unshadowed
By a frown,
Fathomless,
Wherein
My senses
Drown.
Your Eyes.
Your Lips
Your Lips,
Twin silken petals
Of a dewy rose.
Altar
Of the heart
Where love
Kindling desire
Worships unafraid.
Crucible
Of
Passion.
The rose in masquerade.
Your Lips.
Your Kiss
Your Kiss,
A flame
Of Passion’s fire
The sensitive Seal
Of Love
In the desire,
The fragrance
Of your Caress;
Alas,
At times
I find
Exquisite bitterness
In
Your Kiss.
DAY DREAMS
(To The Friend)
Yesterday—in contemplation
We dreamed of love to be,
And in the dreaming,
Wove a tapestry of Love.
Today—We dream our dream awake;
Realization,
Coloring our Romance
With all the glory
Of a flaming Rose.
Tomorrow—What awakening lies before us:
Our tapestry
In shreds perchance,
Or mellowed—glorified
By love’s reflection?
I wonder—
SUSPICION
There crossed the path
Of my dream of you
A gossamer web of gray,
So soft its sheen,
Almost unseen,
But it stopped me
On my way.
Like a cold, gray granite battlement
It walled me all about,
For a cruel steel,
Was in the feel
Of the silken web of doubt.
THE SAGE
(To M.)
O Gladness shining bravely
From out the eyes of youth,
Be strong in your belief of good,
Of valor and of truth.
For soon enough,
Too soon enough—
The gladdest light meets doubt,
Then flickers, flutters, just a bit,
But, doesn’t quite go out.
O Sadness peering divinely
From out the eyes of age,
Be strong in your belief of good.
To youth—still be the sage.
For soon enough,
Too soon enough,
The saddest light in doubt,
Flickers, flutters, flickers,
And finally goes out.
MORPHIA
I am The Ingrate Morphia,
You hold the brimming cup of your Life
To me, athirst am I,
And drink my fill
Of strength, until
The cup is drained dry.
Then, satisfied, I care no more.
The cup, I cast away,
Crunch ’neath my heel.
Its doom I seal,
As I walk on my way.
DOMINO
Passion’s cloak,
An ashy thing to wear,
Covering the shroud of love
That once was fair.
What gruesome imagery
Does this convey to me.
Grim death—itself no ghastlier a thing than this
Could ever be.
THE SPHINX
(To B. H.)
O Sphinx—a monument to man!
Built by his hands of clay,
You symbolize the power of might
Used in an earthy way.
Yesteryear, you stood for man’s symbolic strength sublime,
Today, you all but buried are
Beneath the sands of time.
O Wondrous mountain—living Sphinx!
Built by the hand of God,
You symbolize the power of Love
Used with the lowly sod.
Yesteryear, a symbol of divinity sublime,
Today, you lift your rugged head
Untouched by hands of time.
O Sphinx—a monument to man!
Built by his hand of clay,
You symbolize the power of might
Used in an earthy way.
Yesterday, you in grandeur stood alone.
Today, you’re mingling with the sand
A rotting mass of stone.
O Wondrous mountain—living Sphinx!
Built by the hand of God,
You symbolize the power of Love
Used with the lowly sod,
E’er yesterday, you stood a monument of Love,
Today unchanged, your glorious face,
In worship turned above.
STRADIVARIUS
(To Jascha Heifetz)
If power were only given me,
To paint the tone picture that arises from the soul
Of that sanctuary of sound—your violin,
Where would I find pigment worthy of such a use,
Save in the fleeting splendour of some sky.
Where a brush—save in a snowy feather
From the shining wing of an archangel.
Where the canvas—save across the dream memory of one who heard
And was blessed by the hearing.
EXTRAVAGANZA
Extravaganza! The very word is vulgar. Still vulgarity is necessary to
development, for even a weed growing in a swamp can sometimes be
cultivated into a hot house plant. Take an orchid not under its own
surroundings, but dress it by putting it in a proper receptacle, and
what a difference! But, outside of beauty what have you? If we could
only combine the beauty of an orchid with the soul of a weed we would
get an improvement in the orchid, for real weeds are grateful enough to
spring up between cobblestones, even to be trampled upon.
Rather be a blade of grass that knows the heart beats of Mother Earth,
than the potted plant which is pampered and only restored to a semblance
of life.
MIRAGE
Happiness—you wait for us
Just beyond,
Just beyond.
We know not where,
Nor how we shall find you.
We only know you are
Waiting, waiting,
Just beyond.
GLORIFICATION
(To W. W.)
The arms of the earth broke through the sod
And clenched his fist in derision,
For clay knows not the might of God,
It has but earthy vision.
The finger of God wrote in the sky
A sign of mighty fire:
“Reach up to me for I am Life”
But earth could reach no higher.
With strength of muscle, with might and main,
Earth struggled and then defied,
But God stretched forth His hand of Love
And Earth was glorified.
REMEMBRANCE
(To M. O.)
An infant memory,
A tiny fragile thing,
Called into being
By the brush of a colored wing
Across the canvas
Of my tired mind.
It grows,
A lovely picture of the past
I find,
You! Grown to fullest stature
Of the perfect soul,
The tiny sheltered memory
Has reached at last
Its goal.
THREE GENERATIONS OF KISSES
(To M. K.)
A Mother’s kisses
Are blessed with love
Straight from the heart
Of Heaven above.
Love’s Benediction,
Her dear caress,
The sum of all our happiness.
Till we kiss the lips
Of the mate of our soul
We never know Love
Has reached its goal.
Caress divine,
You reign until
A baby’s kiss seems sweeter still.
That beloved blossom
A baby’s face
Seems to be
Love’s resting place.
And a million kisses
Tenderly
Linger there in ecstacy.
Were I told to select
Just one kiss a day;
Oh! What a puzzle
I would say.
Still a baby’s kiss
I’d choose, you see,
For in that wise choice
I’d gain ALL Three.
A BABY’S SKIN