LOVE'S LOVERS
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ome ladies love the jewels in Love's zoneAnd gold-tipped darts he hath for painless playIn idle scornful hours he flings away;And some that listen to his lure's soft toneDo love to deem the silver praise their own;Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be theyWho kissed his wings which brought him yesterdayAnd thank his wings to-day that he is flown. My lady only loves the heart of Love:Therefore Love's heart, my lady, hath for theeHis bower of unimagined flower and tree:There kneels he now, and all-anhungered ofThine eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above,Seals with thy mouth his immortality.
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