VERSE

I expect every one
Of my crowd to make fun
Of my proud protestations of faith in romance,
And they'll say I'm naive
As a babe to believe
Any fable I hear from a person in pants.
Fearlessly I'll face them and argue their doubts away.
Loudly I'll sing about flowers and spring.
Flatly I'll stand on my little flat feet and say,
Love is a grand and a beautiful thing!
I'm not ashamed to reveal
The world-famous feeling I feel.

REFRAIN

I'm as corny as Kansas in August,

— Love not too much. But how,
When thou hast made me such,
And dost thy gifts bestow,
How can I love too much?
— Though I must fear to lose,
And drown my joy in care,
With all its thorns I choose
The path of love and prayer.

— Though thou, I know not why,
Didst kill my childish trust,
That breach with toil did I
Repair, because I must:
— And spite of frighting schemes,
With which the fiends of Hell
Blaspheme thee in my dreams,
So far I have hoped well.

— But what the heavenly key,
What marvel in me wrought

Love not, love not, ye hapless sons of clay!
— Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers —
Things that are made to fade and fall away,
— When they have blossomed but a few short hours.
Love not, love not!

Love not, love not! The thing you love may die —
— May perish from the gay and gladsome earth;
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,
— Beam on its grave as once upon its birth.
Love not, love not!

Love not, love not! The thing you love may change,
— The rosy lip may cease to smile on you;

Love me at last, or if you will not,
Leave me;
Hard words could never, as these half-words,
Grieve me:
Love me at last — or leave me.

Love me at last, or let the last word uttered
Be but your own;
Love me, or leave me — as a cloud, a vapor,
Or a bird flown.
Love me at last — I am but sliding water
Over a stone.

Love me, and never leave me,
Love, nor ever deceive me,
And I shall always bless you
If I may undress you:
Which I heard a lover say
To his sweetheart where they lay.

He, though he did undress her,
Did not always bless her;
She, though she would not leave him,
Often did deceive him;
Yet they loved, and when they died
They were buried side by side.

Love , like Ulysses,
Is a wanderer,
For new fields always
And new faces yearning. . . .
Put by, O waiting ones,
Put by your weaving,
Unlike Ulysses,
Love is unreturning.

Love, like a mountain-wind upon an oak,
Falling upon me, shakes me leaf and bough.

Love is soft, love is swete, love is good sware;
Love is muche tene, love is muchel care.
Love is blissene mest, love is bot yare;
Love is wondred and wo with for to fare.

Love is hap, who it haveth; love is good hele.
Love is lecher and lees, and leef for to tele.
Love is doughty in the world with for to dele.
Love maketh in the land many unlele.

Love is stalwarde and strong to striden on stede.
Love is loveliche a thing to wommane nede.
Love is hardy and hot as glowinde glede.
Love maketh many may with teres to wede.

Love is a secret feeding fire that gives all creatures being,
Life to the dead, speech to the dumb, and to the blind man seeing.
And yet in me he contradicts all these his sacred graces:
Sears up my lips, my eyes, my life, and from me ever flying
Leads me in paths untracked, ungone, and many uncouth places,
Where in despair I beauty curse. Curse love and all fair faces!

Love, hide me in your breast.
No one is looking.
Don't even let the perfume of air
come between us,
one breath from the past
that could stir painful remembrance:
now that sky is ours,
I want to forget all earthly care.

Star of those who have lost the way,
rain down your light on me,
shine into the shy center
of my labyrinthine soul
the years have made dark
and be my sure-footed guide.

Dream, envelop my heart
in imaginary finery
while my rose of desire
pours forth her ardent perfume.
I am become passion.