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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
XV—“O, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD”
O, love is not a summer mood,
Nor flying phantom of the brain,
Nor youthful fever of the blood,
Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance.
Love is not born of blinded chance,
Nor bred in simple ignorance.
Nor flying phantom of the brain,
Nor youthful fever of the blood,
Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance.
Love is not born of blinded chance,
Nor bred in simple ignorance.
37
Love is the flower of maidenhood;
Love is the fruit of mortal pain;
And she hath winter in her blood.
True love is stedfast as the skies,
And once alight she never flies;
And love is strong, and love is wise.
Love is the fruit of mortal pain;
And she hath winter in her blood.
True love is stedfast as the skies,
And once alight she never flies;
And love is strong, and love is wise.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |