WHO loves the mortal creature, ending there, is no more free—he has given himself away to Death— For him the slimy black Form lies in wait at every turn, befouling the universe; Yet he who loves must love the mortal, and he who would love perfectly must be free: [Love—glorious though it be—is a disease as long as it destroys or even impairs the freedom of the soul.] Therefore if thou wouldst love, withdraw thyself from love: Make it thy slave, and all the miracles of nature shall lie in the palm of thy hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLACK MONKEY by KATHERINE MANSFIELD A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 19. TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNG by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 24 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE GRAPE-VINE SWING by WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS |