THE AFTERMATH
Lovers making foolish vows,
Thinking love is deathless
When ’tis fiercest to espouse
What it sings so breathless;
Now caressing, now confessing
In romantic stanza—
Such is passion and its fashion
Of extravaganza.
But the love that’s worth a throne
Is the kind that later
More than sentiment alone
Proves and heavens greater
Than a frenzy of the fancy
Or a creed of nature,
Or the praises in fine phrases
Of a charming creature.
Oh, the happy aftermath
When the mating’s over
And ordeals of life and death
Teach the whilom lover
That the woman, though for human
Charms he did enshrine her,
Is the essence of a presence
Sweeter and diviner!