A Minor Poet, and Other Verse

by Amy Levy

V.

Shelley, that sprite from the spheres above,
Says, and would make the matter clear,
That love divided is larger love;—
We’ll leave those things to the bards, my dear.
For you never wrote a verse, you see;
And I—my verse is not fair nor new.
Till the world be dead, you shall love but me,
Till the stars have ceased, I shall love but you.