Abelard to Heloise, 20

Write me no more. Grow diligent in prayer;
Let God, not Abelard, be your concern.
When mem'ries torture, and when passions burn,
Look to the Cross, that refuge of despair;
Its outstretched arms are ever waiting there.
Immortal life is something we must earn
By conquest of the baser self. Oh, turn
Your thoughts from earth, to worlds divinely fair.
Let silence give our sorrowing love true worth.
To love you, means to leave you with no sign:
To love me, means to let my life go free.
But when death calls our purg├ęd souls from earth,
Oh, may your senseless clay rest close to mine!
Adieu! adieu! and write no more to me.
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.