Poetry Archives

In all romances, old and new,
  And in all lover’s rhymes
I find one rule that has held true
  Since prehistoric times.

The lover must, if he indeed
  Be hit by Cupid’s dart,
Grow pale, sigh much, neglect his food,
  And wholly lose his heart.

Now fain would I abide this rule
  But I, forsooth, grow red
And hot, and stammer like a fool,
  And only lose my head.