Classic Poem

I MET Love one day,
A-going on his way,
A light in his eyes,
And his laugh it was gay;

His locks were all trim,
His wings were all prim,
A glow on his cheek
And rounded each limb;

A voice like a flute,
Attuned to his lute;
He danced on his way,
As he sang of his suit.


I met Love again, —
His face was in pain;
The lute it was silent;
The string snapped in twain.

His eye it was dim,
His mouth it was grim,
All hollow his cheek,
And wasted each limb.

" What ails you? " I said.
Then Love shook his head,
— " It is more than a month
Since poor Love was fed. "