The Triumph of Love | ||
XXXI
Life is too brief for love, too brief for aughtBut silence and despair: methought life's clue
Was in love's keeping; but the years have taught
My humbled heart that love makes all things new.
I have no time to dream, to hope, to burn,
To count the gains, the hazards of love's play:
I dare not wait—there is so much to learn—
To chase the butterflies that haunt love's way.
Life is too brief for love: the days depart;
And I, love's adept, am a tiro still.
O Love, with frost of death benumb my heart
That I may learn thy meaning and thy will.
Vain prayer! for life and death are less to thee
Than waves, O Love, in thy world-circling sea.
The Triumph of Love | ||