Oh, yes ! they love through all this world of ours ! <br />I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth. <br />I have heard love talked in my early youth, <br />And since, not so long back but that the flowers <br />Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours <br />Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth <br />For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth <br />Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers, <br />The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much <br />Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate <br />Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such <br />A lover, my Beloved ! thou canst wait <br />Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch, <br />And think it soon when others cry ' Too late.'<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xl-3/
