Most men know love but as a part of life; <br />They hide it in some corner of the breast, <br />Even from themselves; and only when they rest <br />In the brief pauses of that daily strife, <br />Wherewith the world might else be not so rife, <br />They draw it forth (as one draws forth a toy <br />To soothe some ardent, kiss-exacting boy) <br />And hold it up to sister, child, or wife. <br />Ah me! why may not love and life be one? <br />Why walk we thus alone, when by our side, <br />Love, like a visible God, might be our guide? <br />How would the marts grow noble! and the street, <br />Worn like a dungeon-floor by weary feet, <br />Seem then a golden court-way of the Sun!<br /><br />Henry Timrod<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-02-4/
