The Look Of Love
Glance strikes with glance, swift flashing high and higher
Like lightnings that precede the mighty storm;
Love's Language, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Uttered not, yet comprehended.
There is an extraordinary form of eye contact that is highly charged (almost electrical) and highly emotional. It has been described as more divine than human, more cosmic than earthly, and more soulful than mortal. It is a knowing glance, eloquently silent, where volumes are spoken in a matter of seconds, with perfect understanding, and yet not a word is ever uttered. Are eyes really the window to the soul?
In eyes we know. They do not lie. Many poets have written some very good works based on this type of gaze. It is connected with themes of love and truth. They have described this visual connection with terms such as:
- beaming, burning, mingled, love-lit, floating eyes
- tempting, reflected rays
- splendid beacons
- holy looks
- orbs of sunshine
- lightning glances
- bloodless battle of eyes with eyes
- deep, impassioned gaze
It is unplanned, inexplicable, undeniable, unforgettable, intriguing, and extremely compelling. It has been described and written about over the centuries, but it still leaves more questions than answers. Why does it happen? What does it mean? Is it good or bad, right or wrong? Does everyone experience it and how any times in a lifetime? How do you study something so subjective, and so fleeting?
A Sampling of Gaze Poetry
In her dark eyes the knowledge lies
Of an immortal sod,
Her soul once trod in angel-guise,
Nor can forget its heavenly ties,
Since, there in Heaven, upon her eyes
Once gazed the eyes of God.
A sweet, swift flame
Shot from her flesh to mine -- and hers the blame
Of willing looks that fed it; aye, that fanned
The glow within me to a hungry fire.
There was an invitation in her eyes.
Glance strikes with glance, swift flashing high and higher
Like lightnings that precede the mighty storm;
To Harriet (Thy look of love ...)
Thy look of love has power to calm
The stormiest passion of my soul;
Thy gentle words are drops of balm
In life's too bitter bowl;
To [Harriet]. (Yet look on me...)
Yet look on me -- take not thine eyes away,
Which feed upon the love within mine own,
Which is indeed but the reflected ray
Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.
Lesbia hath a beaming eye,
But no one knows for whom it beameth;
Right and left its arrows fly,
But what they aim at no one dreameth.
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
My Nora's lid, that seldom rises;
Few her looks, but every one,
Like unexpected light surprises!
Oh, my Nora Creina dear,
My gentle, bashful Nora Creina,
Beauty lies
In many eyes,
But love in yours, my Nora Creina.
The time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
The light that lies
In woman's eyes,
Has been my heart's undoing.
Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorn'd the lore she brought me:
My only books
Were woman's looks,
And folly's all they've taught me.
Some looks there are so holy,
They seem but given, they seem but given,
As splendid beacons solely,
To light to heaven, to light to heaven.
'Tis in your eyes, my sweetest love!
My only worlds I see;
Let but their orbs in sunshine move,
And earth below and skies above,
May frown or smile for me!
Odes To Nea: You read it in my languid eyes...
That moment did the mingled eyes
Of heaven and earth my madness view.
I should have seen, through earth and skies,
But you alone -- but only you!
'Twas a new feeling - something more
Than we had dared to own before,
Which then we hid not, which then we hid not.
We saw it in each other's eye,
And wish'd, in every murmur'd sigh,
To speak, but did not; to speak, but did not.
Tell Me Where The Maid Is Found
And if her cheek be rosy bright,
While truth within her bosom lies,
I'll gaze upon her morn and night,
Till my heart leave me through my eyes.
'Twas but for a moment - and yet in that time
She crowded th' impressions of many an hour:
Her eye had a glow like the sun of her clime,
Which waked every feeling at once into flower!
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.
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