CAN this be love men yield me in return For what I do? I hold a strange belief That love is not a tribute, nor a leaf Of laurel, nor a wage the soul can earn By any kind of doing. The concern Of love is need, and love is the spare sheaf We glean from pain -- the fruit of patient grief. Can this be love men yield me? Nay. I spurn Their recompense who could so long refrain From giving. I myself will grant the gift And prove what loving is. I'll finer sift My sorrow, make new songs distilled from pain; Above this hour of bitterness I'll lift My spirit up and taste my grief again! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER MUSIC by JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY WATER FOWL by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE MORAL FABLES: THE SHEEP AND THE DOG by AESOP BAYARD TAYLOR by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A LYNMOUTH WIDOW by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR NATURE'S WORD by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |