Classic Poem

Your love was like a fire of sticks
Or whin that kindles at a spark.
It blazed so high it made
A splendour in the dark.
But if it burnt so merrily
It died away as fast,
And I was left with ashes
To warm me at long last.

Oh! like a fire of turf, my man,
I prayed to God your love might be,
As warm on winter nights
And burning steadfastly.
That if I'd think it dying out
And raked the ash apart,
I'd find the sod was glowing
With fire at its heart.