I do not love you – nay! How I loathe you
So that the sweet memories I once held
Sour when I think of your indifferent hue;
With bitterness my past passions are quelled.
O and to think of all I have endured:
Scars of sorrow, longing, regret, and worse
To suffer for some vague romance – absurd!
O how did I submit myself to such a curse?
But then I think of why, of that distant dream
And what are such pains to pilgrims of the Way?
To poet and lover these anguishes seem
Only to cleanse souls for that promised day;
Why else would Moses’ flock endure the sands
For forty years if not the Promised Land?
April 10, 2005