 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
174
REPULSIONS.
Love is akin to peace, that mother's child,Dying of clamour: love, the lamp of life,
Shines as a moon in harvest, mellow and mild,
Not flaring up with Etna's fiery strife:
Love shrinks from all contention; gentle things,
The charitable thought and word and deed,
The patient cheerfulness that sits and sings,
Plying its daily duty, well agreed
With all around,—here Love may fold his wings:
But he shall spread them, hasting to be freed
From meannesses and strifes; the jealous look,
The jarring nerves of a discordant tongue,
He cannot dwell with these; and will not brook
Such poison-asps his flowers and fruits among.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |