O SPARE me from the hand of niggard love
That grasps at interest on what it lends,
And sets cold counsel as a guard above
The hoard it calculates before it spends.
Such misers of the riches of the heart
Bear their untested treasure to the grave,
And miss the whole, striving to save the part,
By the bare measure they have striven to save.
Is it for pride in saying at the end:
See, Life! I spent not all that thou hast given—
Lo, this and this and this I did not spend!
I stinted earth of bliss to add to heaven.
Alas, poor fools! life only gave ye this
Because earth has such need of heavenly bliss.
III.
ONCE, Love, be prodigal, nor look hereafter,
Not though experience unrolls the years
And bids thee count the cost of golden laughter
In the dull coinage of leaden tears.
O perjured wisdom! half-truth hedged with lies!
That makes a common stake of joy and pain,
When tears are man’s most mortal certainties
And every instant’s joy his heavenly gain.
Ah, mystery that sowed our breath and being,
What harvest wilt thou get of untilled powers?
Why didst thou give us sight if not for seeing?
Why if we dare not hear make hearing ours?
Or why in life’s name this high passion of love
But in life’s name its passionate height to prove?
IV.
WILT thou put seals on love because men say
Love is a thing that certain time will steal?
As well, since night is certain after day,
Might men their eyelids to the noontide seal.
Nay! even though that worn-out tale were truth,
And love, dear love, were time’s assurèd dower,
What profit canst thou get of cheated youth
By paying usury before his hour?
I will not hear the sorry tune of time,
That bitter quencher of young blessedness.
Not to have proved young rapture is the crime,
Unproven it will be quenched no less, no less.
And thou wilt to the earth at last, time’s scorn,
Relinquishing a crown thou hast not worn.