LOVE’S TYRANNY
Love’s tyranny now wherefore should I praise,
Not being enamoured of my altered plight!
I often sigh who once sang roundelays;
I know the sleepless gnomes that haunt the night.
I turn with feverish jealousy to hear
Words that were spoken when I was not near.
I shroud my eyes from sights I dare not see,
Yet who so spies must tell his tale to me.
Madman am I, who give my vote for death,
Yet heed not the grim hand that beckoneth.
Love I entreat to go, and while I pray
Grasp him with nervous fingers, lest he stray.
Ah! than love’s blessing is no deadlier curse,
And yet—and yet—to live undamned were worse.
Percy Hemingway.