John Galsworthy: Love

O LOVE!—that love which comes so stealthily,
And takes us up, and twists us as it will—
What fever’d hours of agony you bring!
How oft we wake and cry: “God set me free
Of love—to never love again!” And still
We fall, and clutch you by the knees, and cling
And press our lips—and so, once more are glad!

And if you go, or if you never come,
Through what a grieving wilderness of pain
We travel on! In prisons stripped of light
We blindly grope, and wander without home.
The friendless winds that sweep across the plain—
The beggars meeting us at silent night—
Than we, are not more desolate and sad!


Published 1912 in Moods, Songs, and Doggerels.

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