Classic Poem

My chosen one — you to whom I have said,
" You and you only ever please my heart " —
I look deep in your eyes, and heal the smart
That long love-yearning hath engendered.

My hunger grows the more through being fed;
But Love, who wasteth not his perfect art
On the unworthy, with each deeper dart
Brings not the pain I thought, but joy instead,

And health from my heart all pain away.
Love is not pain but gain. Though bitter-sweet,
Less bitter 'tis than sweet, less ill than good.

Twice happy then, yea, thrice, though Love me slay,
If but below I may Tibullus meet
And wander there beside him in Love's wood.