To One Who Has Loved Often

Palimpsest heart, on which so many names
Love's hand has writ! Blind Love, could he not know
Which the true script of Fate, and thus forego
To lend his torch to kindle transient flames?
New risen joy each new day's sun proclaims;
Each dawning sets the amorous east aglow;
Each day is bright until its sun is low;
As of fair days, so is it of fair dames.

Why should we chide the glad who find life sweet?
Their careless hearts are like a favored year,
All blessed summer; or a garden ground
To which no frosts come, where no tempests beat,
But roses bloom forever, red and dear,
And blithe birds fill it always with sweet sound.
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