Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, <br /> Where that comes in that shall not go again; <br />Love sells the proud heart's citadel to Fate. <br /> They have known shame, who love unloved. Even then, <br />When two mouths, thirsty each for each, find slaking, <br /> And agony's forgot, and hushed the crying <br />Of credulous hearts, in heaven -- such are but taking <br /> Their own poor dreams within their arms, and lying <br />Each in his lonely night, each with a ghost. <br /> Some share that night. But they know love grows colder, <br />Grows false and dull, that was sweet lies at most. <br /> Astonishment is no more in hand or shoulder, <br />But darkens, and dies out from kiss to kiss. <br />All this is love; and all love is but this.<br /><br />Rupert Brooke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-29/
