THE DECADENT LOVER OF FICTION.
"One love, one life," was my ancient manner,
For introspection I had no brain,
But I would have died beneath her banner,
Or I would have lived, her grace to gain.
I loved her silent, I loved her sprightly,
With Grecian braid or with glossy curl;
I loved her wrongly, I loved her rightly,
But ever I loved a single girl.
But now with ennui my love is laden
Before it really has quite begun;
If I win the heart of any maiden
It makes me prefer another one.
Dim passions stir me, deflections fleeting;
I feel myself in a hopeless whirl.
There never are less than six competing.
Why can I not love a single girl?
Contented I and my love were mated
In those brave days when we both were young.
For marriage I'm now too complicated,
Too many-natured, too finely-strung.
My spreading canvas all zephyrs vary
For one calm funnel how can I furl?
In truth, the statute is somewhat chary.
And old, and grey, grows the dearest girl!
Oh, love that was loyal, losing, winning,
That time and change had no power to quell,
That once could even dispense with sinning,
And that possession could not dispel!
Your day is done, and your star's declining,
The hero was but a brainless churl
Who ever dreamed that without repining
His whole life long he could love one girl!
And yet, I feel there is something wanting.
The knowledge that love is sure to die
To every lover is disenchanting.
I would I loved as in days gone by.
'Twas braver folly the height to capture,
Though down from the height Fate often hurls.
He misses woe, but he misses rapture,
Who falls in love with too many girls!
