 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
VII—LOVE'S CRUELTY
And this, then, is thy love,” I hear thee say,“And dost thou love, and canst thou torture so?
Ah, spare me, if thou lov'st me, this last woe!”
But I am not my own; I must obey
My master; I am slave to Love; his sway
Is cruel as the grave. When he says Go!
I go; when he says Come! I come. I know
No law but his. When he says Slay! I slay.
As cruel as the grave? Yes—crueler:
Cruel as light that pours its stinging flood
Across the dark, and makes an anguished stir
Of life; cruel as life that sends through blood
Of mortal the immortal pang and spur;
Cruel as thy remorseless maidenhood.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |