Poetry Archives

Love, should I set my heart upon a crown,
 Squander my years, and gain it,
What recompense of pleasure could I own?
 For youth’s red drops would stain it.

Much have I thought on what our lives may mean,
 And what their best endeavor,
Seeing we may not come again to glean,
 But, losing, lose forever.

Seeing how zealots, making choice of pain,
 From home and country parted,
Have thought it life to leave their fellows slain,
 Their women broken-hearted;

How teasing truth a thousand faces claims,
 As in a broken mirror,
And what a father died for in the flames
 His own son scorns as error;

How even they whose hearts were sweet with song
 Must quaff oblivion’s potion,
And, soon or late, their sails be lost along
 The all-surrounding ocean:

Oh, ask me not the haven of our ships,
 Nor what flag floats above you!
I hold you close, I kiss your sweet, sweet lips,
 And love you, love you, love you!