Classic Poem

That strong god whose touch made Dante tremble,
Who made the sun rise and the stars fall,
And could make saints of you and me for an hour,
Now that the world is wise has lost his power:
He was only a pantomime uncle after all.

" Love for another is simply the willing of good"
True for the Middle Ages, a genuine thrill,
But now such childish fancies are outgrown.
This is the truth for modern, adult man:
" Love is simply the perfect wish to kill."