The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Love is Passing

For other versions of this work, see Love is Passing.


Love is passing through the street.
Love, imperishably sweet,
On his silver-sandaled feet
Draweth near.

Suppliant he came of yore,—
Comes he now as conqueror?
Will he, pausing at my door,
Enter here?

Once his lips were ruby-red,
And his wings like gold, outspread,
And the roses crowned his head,
As in story;

And, though these he now disguise,
Ever a lost paradise
In the azure of his eyes
Keeps its glory.

Love is passing through the street—
Love, imperishably sweet,
And were death our way to meet,
I would dare it.

Come he suppliant, as before,
Come he as a conqueror,—
So he turn not from my door,
I can bear it!