 | The Triumph of Love |  |
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Sometimes vain longings to drink deep of love,Like summer tempests, in my heart arise,
Till tremblingly my lips begin to move,
As love's avowal on their threshold dies.
Then like a puzzled child, with mute appeal
Scanning thy face, I ask it to confess
Thy heart's deep secret, but its eyes reveal
Nought but their own enchanting loveliness.
And then I think—O love, forgive the thought—
That thou art passionless as earth or sky,
Absorbing all my life but giving nought,
No pitying tear, no self-reproachful sigh;—
Clasped by a love which thou canst ne'er requite,—
Cold to its flame but radiant in its light.
| The Triumph of Love | |