Love's Calendar; or, Eros and Anteros - Part 9
I will love her no more! — 'tis a waste of the heart,
This lavish of feeling — a prodigal's part —
Who, heedless, the treasure a life could not earn
Squanders forth where he vainly may look for return.
I will love her no more — it is folly to give
Our best years to one, when for many we live.
And he who the world will thus barter for one,
I ween, by such traffic must soon be undone.
I will love her no more — it is heathenish thus
To bow to an idol which bends not to us;
Which heeds not, which hears not, which recks not for aught
That the worship of years to its altar hath brought.
I will love her no more — for no love is without
Its limit in measure, and mine hath run out;
She engrosseth it all, and till some she restore,
Than this moment I love her — how can I love more?
This lavish of feeling — a prodigal's part —
Who, heedless, the treasure a life could not earn
Squanders forth where he vainly may look for return.
I will love her no more — it is folly to give
Our best years to one, when for many we live.
And he who the world will thus barter for one,
I ween, by such traffic must soon be undone.
I will love her no more — it is heathenish thus
To bow to an idol which bends not to us;
Which heeds not, which hears not, which recks not for aught
That the worship of years to its altar hath brought.
I will love her no more — for no love is without
Its limit in measure, and mine hath run out;
She engrosseth it all, and till some she restore,
Than this moment I love her — how can I love more?
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