Some ladies love the jewels in Love's zone, <br />And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play <br />In idle scornful hours he flings away; <br />And some that listen to his lute's soft tone <br />Do love to vaunt the silver praise their own; <br />Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be they <br />Who kissed his wings which brought him yesterday <br />And thank his wings to-day that he is flown. <br />My lady only loves the heart of Love: <br />Therefore Love's heart, my lady, hath for thee <br />His bower of unimagined flower and tree: <br />There kneels he now, and all-anhungered of <br />Thine eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above, <br />Seals with thy mouth his immortality.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-viii-love-s-lovers/
