……….. The imperial votress passed on <br />In maiden meditation, fancy free. <br /> <br />Midsummer Night's Dream, <br />Shall I never see a bachelor of three-score again? <br /> <br />BENEDICT, in Much Ado about Nothing. <br /> <br />I <br />WHEN the tree of Love is budding first, <br />Ere yet its leaves are green, <br />Ere yet, by shower and sunbeam nurst <br />Its infant life has been; <br />The wild bee's slightest touch might wring <br />The buds from off the tree, <br />As the gentle dip of the swallow's wing <br />Breaks the bubbles on the sea. <br /> <br />II <br />But when its open leaves have found <br />A home in the free air, <br />Pluck them, and there remains a wound <br />That ever rankles there. <br />The blight of hope and happiness <br />Is felt when fond ones part, <br />And the bitter tear that follows is <br />The life-blood of the heart. <br /> <br />III. <br />When the flame of love is kindled first, <br />'Tis the fire-fly's light at even, <br />'Tis dim as the wandering stars that burst <br />In the blue of the summer heaven. <br />A breath can bid it burn no more, <br />Or if, at times, its beams <br />Come on the memory, they pass o'er <br />Like shadows in our dreams. <br /> <br />IV <br />But when that flame has blazed into <br />A being and a power, <br />And smiled in scorn upon the dew <br />That fell in its first warm hour, <br />'Tis the flame that curls round the martyr's head, <br />Whose task is to destroy; <br />'Tis the lamp on the altars of the dead, <br />Whose light but darkens joy! <br /> <br />V <br />Then crush, even in their hour of birth, <br />The infant buds of Love, <br />And tread his glowing fire to earth, <br />Ere 'tis dark in clouds above; <br />Cherish no more a cypress tree <br />To shade thy future years, <br />Nor nurse a heart-flame that may be <br />Quenched only with thy tears.<br /><br />Fitz-Greene Halleck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-1974/
