Love Among the Saints
Yet, O Warder, was it wise
Thus to spurn him? Was it well?
Love is strong, lasting long,
Him thou canst not bind in Hell ;
Scourge him, burn, he never dies.
Phoenix-wise
Riseth he unconquerable.
Only martyred Love returns
With an altered face and air ;
Not a child, sweet and mild,
Fit for daily kiss and care.
But a spirit which aches and burns,
Swift he turns
All your visions to despair.
Love you cannot reach or find,
Love that aches within the soul,
Vague and faint, till the Saint
Cries, beyond his own control,
For some answer that his blind
Heart can find
But in its own vain diastole.
Ah, beware ! That phantom Love
Drives to madness, and destroys.
Yet, to all Love must call.
Only we may choose the voice.
And whate'er we are or prove.
Loathe or love,
Hangs upon that instant's choice!
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