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DAY DREAMS
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DAY DREAMS
RUDOLPH VALENTINO
(TO M.)
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
{vi}
Copyright, 1923
BY
RUDOLPH VALENTINO
Printed
in U. S. A.
{vii}
To J. C. N. G.
MY FRIENDS HERE AND THERE
INTRODUCTION
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.
New York—May 29th, 1923.
CONTENTS
DAY DREAMS
THE GIFT BOOK
(To J. R.)
Each has a particular gift to bring.
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.
NATURE
THE LOVE CHILD
(To B.)
A shady cloud of gray
But this dull attire
Hid a heart of fire
In quest of romance stray.
Vision
Shining from above
Came radiant by
And caught the eye
Of this vagabond of love.
Delusion
He kissed her heart away
All in a jest
It was the quest
Of the cloud on a summer’s day.
Conclusion
Across a leaden sky—
Just like a pulsing vein of life
An artery of love not strife
And it livens the heavens high.
No sign of life we see.
Do we not know,
Night’s bound to go,
Dawn follows instantly.
HEART FLOWER
YOU
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 Kiss
DAY DREAMS
(To The Friend)
We dreamed of love to be,
And in the dreaming,
Wove a tapestry of Love.
Realization,
Coloring our Romance
With all the glory
Of a flaming Rose.
SUSPICION
THE SAGE
(To M.)
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.
MORPHIA
DOMINO
THE SPHINX
(To B. H.)
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.
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.
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.
STRADIVARIUS
(To Jascha Heifetz)
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.
{29}{28}
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
GLORIFICATION
(To W. W.)
And clenched his fist in derision,
For clay knows not the might of God,
It has but earthy vision.
A sign of mighty fire:
“Reach up to me for I am Life”
But earth could reach no higher.
REMEMBRANCE
(To M. O.)
THREE GENERATIONS OF KISSES
(To M. K.)
Are blessed with love
Straight from the heart
Of Heaven above.
Love’s Benediction,
Her dear caress,
The sum of all our happiness.
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.
A baby’s face
Seems to be
Love’s resting place.
And a million kisses
Tenderly
Linger there in ecstacy.
A BABY’S SKIN
GRATITUDE
(To A. T.)
In dawning splendrous beauty,
I planted it so tenderly,
And love has done its duty.
All in a plot of ground,
Wherein I found no bit of worth,
The seed I planted in the ground.
To be cherished for thy looks,
But deep within the heart of you
Was wisdom never found in books.
The joy, the beauty of all things,
You are the melody of life—the song
That Mother Nature sings.
You, in your perfumed cradle, rest
Safe in the arms of Mother Earth,
Held closely to her loving breast.
When love so tenderly drew nigh,
Lifted your tiny hand of green
And turned your face toward the sky.
SHADOWS
We cling to hope—in hope we find
The symbol of a broken heart.
Shadows—gray bleak gossamer web
Of what once was woven ’round my heart.
We slink within thy domain—the land of shadows.
For still we hope.
But knowing always, that a broken faith can never be restored
To more than it was—a Shadow.
{45}{44}
ACCUSATION
EVEN SONG
That curtains a sleeping earth.
I sing a song to the stars on high
That mark a jewel’s worth.
A puny earthy cry,
Yet when its echo comes to me,
Angelic voice in harmony,
I know it is not I.
GYPSIES
(To R. B.)
Little sparrows—more’s the pity,
Homeless, heedless of the weather,
Happy, banding all together,
Never giving thought to trouble,
Never seeing evil double,
Would that we who proudly mention
Every honorable intention
To the world with trumpet blaring,
Could, like sparrows, take uncaring
All the little earthly struggles,
Cast them gypsy-like aside
And fly happily, and gladly
All about earth’s countryside.
Why do the birds chant the psalm of glory?
Only because they alone are free throated and unafraid. Do they realize the danger in the sling-shot of civilization? No—they are only conscious of the Joy within.
THE CARRIER
(To J. K.)
Sent as a go-between—they say.
Took a betrayal under its wing
And guarded and cherished the slimy thing.
But that is all forgotten when
We send this softly feathered bird
With messages best left unheard.
THE SCHOOL OF LIFE
(To M)
Lives are classes—we are pupils with excellent teachers. Experience should tutor us, but we so often shirk school. School can be made happy and we delight in making a higher grade—but through not heeding Experience’s teaching we often are left back in the old class, and sometimes, sad to relate, are put several grades lower.
But, happily, there is always the opportunity of skipping many grades upward. It’s a poor rule that doesn’t work both ways.
The Mind is the Grade we work in. We can have majestic thoughts, living in a hermit’s hut, or we can think as a swine in a palace on a throne of gold—let us choose our station—kingly children, or swineherds. Eternity is the Empire.
THE WANTON
SLAVERY
(To E. A. P.)
I am a slave,
Yet free as birds above,
Sold into bondage
By the tender kiss of love.
I am a slave
In the rat trap of disgust,
Sold into bondage
By the lurid kiss of lust.
I am a slave
Prisoned by the walls of fate,
Sold into bondage
By the cruel kiss of hate.
I am a slave
Behind the bars of time,
Sold into bondage
By the leprous kiss of crime.
I am a slave
No longer in my breath,
Given sight of freedom
Through the graciousness of death.
WITHIN A WALL
I chanced to walk in a cloistered way,
I saw the ones who closed the door
On all the world had spread before.
Their eyes—that were closed to the joy of good,
They thought the God’s law they understood.
O Pity, Pity, for such as they
Who only look on skies of gray,
From cloistered windows sad of eye,
When all about is glorious sky.
It was but the tiny patch of gray,
The shadowed thing that happened to play
Behind the back of the glorious earth.
Alas, they thought it was all the worth
Of the whole wide world, the glorious world.
But the folded wings were not unfurled
And closed to use they lost the call,
And so they lost to them their all.
{63}{62}
THE CHALICE
(To E. H.)
SOLICITUDE
Walked two lovers, hand in hand,
Leaving all that’s gone before.
They mark each footstep in the sand,
Knowing well that every foot print
Will be trod by their own blood,
Therefore, let each couple ponder
O’er their footsteps
For future good.
(To D. K.)
YOU
The Symbol of Devotion.
The Blessedness of Womanhood.
The Incentive of Chivalry.
The Reality of Ideals.
The Verity of Joy.
Idolatry’s Defense.
The Proof of Goodness.
The Power of Gentleness.
Beauty’s Acknowledgment.
Vanity’s Excuse.
The Promise of Truth.
The Melody of Life.
The Caress of Romance.
The Dream of Desire.
The Sympathy of Understanding.
My Heart’s Home.
The Proof of Faith.
Sanctuary of my Soul.
My Belief of Heaven.
Eternity of all Happiness.
My Prayers.
You.
{69}{68}
AT SUNRISE TOMORROW
(To E. B.)
“Tomorrow we meet at twilight”
For that is the time of the darkening hour,
The ending of the day.
All is glowing, gleaming in our love,
All is pulsing, breathing in the light
Of understanding—it is not symbolic of twilight,
Nor yet of dawning, for it has reached the zenith of love’s day.
So when you leave me, dearest, do not say:
“Tomorrow we meet at twilight.”
Rather, beloved of my heart,
“We meet at sunshine tomorrow.”
{71}{70}
POVERTY
CREMATION
(To G. S.)
I
Just a packet of letters that once were sent by you
To one who proved unworthy
Of the Love inscribed within.
The tiny packet of letters, a witness of my sin.
II
I dare not claim one thought in them
Not even as a loan,
For to the one you thought I was
In all sincerity
You bared the secrets of your soul.
Now I send them back to thee.
III
IV
Now in vaprous symphony of gray
I send you back to her,
For the spirit of true love that’s penned,
Must rise to meet her soul
In pearly glory ’round her head.
Love’s halo—is its goal.
To rake over the dead ashes of a burnt out love one must use the pen point of poetry.
THE LUTE
POWERLESS
In the eyes of You,
Thoughts of grief akin to madness
Surge my being through.
That I can not send
Even shadowings of sorrows
To their deserved end.
{81}{80}
Garden of delight wherein the jewels of earth do lie!
Tell me, in your vault of gold, will the flowers ever die?
Nothing of so fair a mien could return to earthly dust.
Even if the earth do say, “It is finished,” trust we must
In the God who tells of light that will lift to Heaven above
Every perfumed flower that blows symphonies on wings of love.
{83}{82}
CAP AND BELLS
(To F.)
Here’s a man masquerading as Wealth,
Wears a million of gold,
But a pauper, I’m told,
He hasn’t a penny of health.
Masking as Poverty old.
He may look the part,
But the wealth in his heart,
Makes him richer than Croesus in gold.
That cover the true man beneath
One wears learned looks,
That he’s borrowed from books
And a co-operative laurel wreath.
In make-up the silliest Fool,
But his knowledge of men,
Is beyond the ken
Of a sage of the orthodox school.
PATCHWORK QUILT
Industrious name.
Once it was not quite the same.
A different fame,
A “Crazy Quilt,”
Same foolish dame
Entitled you.
It was sorry fame.
Life is like that,
We do not see
How little bits
Make harmony—
It’s up to man to take each bit
Of happiness and make it fit.
But if he takes and doesn’t dwell
Upon the pattern—Well, it’s Hell!
A crazy quilt the name’s O. K.
But start a patchwork quilt today.
{87}{86}
(To A. M.)
The sky is the mirror that reflects all phases of Life. The clouds of Doubt bring showers, but there is always the “Silver Lining” promise.
Moral: If the sky is the limit better fix it clear in your mind to begin with.
THE PHILOSOPHY OF A PESSIMIST
GEMS OF THOUGHT
| Diamonds | —Scintillating wit of sharpest ray |
| Emeralds | —Philosophy, growth in words today |
| Pearls | —Are the hymns of pity |
| Sapphires | —Songs of the skies |
| Rubies | —Are poems of passion |
| And love that never dies. |
(To C. F.)
The curtain is raised on the first act—the overture is over. We can play our parts. They say life’s a stage, but what a sad thing we have so few good stage managers. Our productions have more in the way of Costume and lack, so often, the right lines. Lines do count, not always words, but sympathy of thought is quite as necessary.
SYMPATHY
(To J.)
Sympathy is just as essential to the world as any other great attribute of good, but it must be sympathy in the right place.
Sympathy of thought has been the greatest lever in the machinery of mankind, but to sympathize with a weak nature sometimes breaks up his foundation. Know your subject.
Never withhold sympathy in loving one, but rather than sympathy, use encouragement as a tonic to tone up a weakling.
Kindly sympathetic interest is only another name for encouragement.
Never take away a prop without putting a stronger one in its place.
On a stretch of sandy beach I see naught of human presence, but upon looking closer, a remembrance of the past. I sit upon a rock and meditate upon what once was. I see myself in all the splendor of my youth. I see my boon companion—Hope, and one other one, whose name I’d best forget. We walked—Hope and I—but ever the unnamed one stalked by my side. I turned to gaze in fascination at my companion who speaks not, but forever stalks silently beside me. I finally forget my Hope to gaze in interest at the other. Hope, neglected, lags behind until we walk alone—myself and the unnamed one. We walk forever, but the walk brings us to the abyss of the world. What name has that one whose identity I fail to know? O, Eternity, thou art my sight and knowledge. It was Doubt, whose companion I became.
LABOR
WEALTH
(To B. F. S.)
UNDERSTANDING
(To the Brother of Maris)
You in all innocence
Looked upon a lovely world
In wondering shyness.
Beauty beckoned,
Then turned the corner of another day
Leaving in her stead
An unknown one,
The stranger to light.
HUNGER
On the long, long road of Life,
I have learned how little Pity
Plays a speaking part in life.
Is the voice that’s heard today,
Calling for God’s milk and honey,
Even Hunger has no say.
MONEY
You wear the dollar sign as your mask.
It may hide you—yes, for a time,
But when at last grim reality stalks into the midst of the festivities,
The mask is ruthlessly torn away, and then—is seen
The true expression hidden behind it—the cruel visage of discordant greed.
{109}{108}
THE CHOICE
ITALY
(To Caruso)
ERIN
BEES
(To M. T.)
A certain lad had a long way to go, so he sat still and waited until—well, another lad also had a long way to go—so he hurried along and before long he received several gifts not to be sneezed at. No, they were not to be sneezed at, though I must say they made his eyes water a bit. The gifts were lovely little blisters on his pedal extremities, so he had to sit down and take care of his poor feet and in pain tarried, looking at his poor feet. Ah, yes, our other little lad took it very slowly, almost like the proverbial snail, but kept on the lookout and pretty soon a nice, comfortable wagon came along, and took the slow little boy for a nice ride, and the good little slow boy rode merrily by the poor little fast boy, who still sat nursing his blisters. He had really gone stepping on some little brimstones,—though he said they were pebbles. The good little slow boy turned back and put his hand to the poor little fast boy, but I regret to say he raised his digits to his nose—O, world where is thy sting.
Note—This is not a moral, it is only something that happens every day on our best trafficked roads.
IMPERIALISM
Man has ever had.
We trembling bow to your decree,
But oh! ’Tis very sad
For all our great devotion
And concern in your behalf,
No matter how we worship you,
You just give us the laugh.
RADIO
(To H. M.)
THE KALEIDOSCOPE OF LOVE
Synonyms and Antonyms
B—Beauty—Bliss—Bitterness—Bondage.
C—Caresses—Circumstances—Confidences—Charm.
D—Desire—Delusion—Dreams—Divorce.
E—Ecstacy—Engagement—Ego—End.
F—Fascination—Forgetfulness—Flattery—Faith.
G—Gossip—Gratitude—Gift—Goodbye.
H—Happiness—Honor—Heartache—Hell.
I—Intuition—Irony—Idolatry—Integrity.
J—Jealousy—Joy—Justice—June.
K—Kisses—Keepsakes—Knowledge—Kismet.
L—Lips—Loneliness—Logic—Longing.
M—Marriage—Morality—Money—Man.
N—No—Nearest—Novelty—Never.
O—Opposition—Own—Offering—Opulence.
P—Passion—Promise—Pride—Proposal.
Q—Quality—Quest—Queries—Quarrels.
R—Romance—Reveries—Realization—Remembrance.
S—Sympathy—Sacrifice—Shame—Settlement.
T—Thoughts—Truth—Temper—Tears.
U—Unkindness—Understanding—Uncertainty—Unfaithfulness.
V—Virtue—Vanity—Vows—Vengeance.
W—Wisdom—Wishes—Wedlock—Woman.
X—The Unknown—Love.
Y—Youth—Yearning—Yes—Yawn.
Z—Zenith—Zest—Zeal—Zero.
{125}{124}
MEMORIAL
(To A. S. R.)
To the memory of one
Who “lived the life,”
In sin and strife,
Is the epitome of fun.
A picture wrought in glass,
His memory’s mockery
’Tis best to let it pass.
DUST TO DUST
I take a bone—I gaze at it in wonder—You, O bit of strength that was. In you today I see the whited sepulchre of nothingness—but you were the shaft that held the wagon of Life. Your strength held together the vehicle of Man until God called and the Soul answered.
LULLABY TREE
Where it will swing so lazily,
Where it will gather to its heart
All in Nature’s lovely mart.
For every lovely living thing
Stops to talk by a tree and sing,
Of what has gone on that very day
In fields and forests far away.
ADAGE
That the age of stealth doth bring.
Stealing hours from the day
Takes the joys of strength away.
Stealing hours from the Night
Taking all—for rest is Might.
When we steal away a Trust,
Nothing ever can we give
Back to him and so we must
Never Steal, but Give to Live.
{133}{132}
FAITHFULNESS
(To Our Little Friend—The Dog)
A dog is the nearest approach to the sweet submissive spirit God would have in us, Faithfulness in the highest form. He only is faithful because he believes in you, as God would have us believe in Him.
REFLECTIONS AT RANDOM
(To A. T.)
Or sing a song to the sun
But just as long as you sing a song
Your day or night is well begun.
Woman, the unreasonable Reason for the Great Reason, which the sages call Life—Others not so knowing call it Love.
Faith—The Engagement—repartee of Love. Hope—Marriage—maybe its reply, but Charity—Divorce—is the retort courteous.
The wedding march or two-step, I should say, is only too often the lock-step.
Punishment is seldom unmerited, though we may not always see the cause.
It is unwise to doubt others when you are not sure of yourself.
Scientists are fools in some respects, I mean the so-called ones, for they ignore the science of all important things.
Friend is symbolical of Heaven, but some play Hell with it.
Fun is a healthy disease and is very contagious.
“May I intrude” is often substituted for “Do I intrude"—bores are not connoisseurs in the selection of verbs.
Make the best of what comes, for the best is coming.
The Great Divide is the division of thought which separates the Wise from the Fools.
Whatever has in it the element of restlessness is like the poison ivy plant; it causes rash and spasmodic movements, and after all the scratching the victim is worse off than before.
Worlds, and Worlds to live in, and so few do.
Care is helpful if we carefully care, but when we carelessly care, be careful.
Gossip—never related in the same way.
When you eat hash you do not always recognize the different kinds of meat in it, do you? So it is with Twice Told Tales.
We always prefer the most difficult way. It seems so much more important, but once we realize it, truth is always simplest when it is Truth.
It takes a hero to accuse no one, but take another’s accusation to his heart.
Love’s greatest expression is Service.
Eyes are living windows.
Into the garden we all go, but most are looking for the worm in the bud and never see the promise of the flower.
In a painted mask we sometimes call a face,
Alas, that pigment be so badly used
And artistry brought to much sad disgrace.
Take freedom but take care lest it take your liberty from you.
To be a humorist one must be concise, witty, but short-lived, for the good die young.
Who finds his pathway all beset with doubt,
For if we find his hidden meanings hard,
We call him “clever"—then he knows what we’re about.
Publicity is the keystone in the Arch of Triumph.
Money—pretender to the throne of all we most desire.
Doubt is the opposing influence of our lives.
Happiness, some never know as a lasting friend, but only as a bowing acquaintance.
Wifehood is a profession, but Womanhood is the Expression.
Faith is the oasis in our Desert of Lost Hope.
Given a chance to run in the Great Race, even a weakling can win if he wears the Armor of Courage.
Purpose in doing is the cornerstone of success.
Did anything ever build itself over night that was worthy the name Great Structure?
Loving service is more helpful than scholarly advice.
Friend—Most lovely word, akin to love, its dearest relation—might I say.
We dream of Greatness in humility, only to awaken to the greatness of Humility.
CO-OPERATION
March on into the open heart of Man,
He needs a touch of nature with the sympathy it brings
In order to work out Life’s Perfect Plan.