THEY met, they looked, they sighed, they loved; Straight each the other chose. (Why wait till slow-paced years have proved What each by instinct knows?) Whate'er mistake we mortals make, Sure, none is made above. Give prudence to the prudes; there is No substitute for love. Howe'er the worldly-wise may mate, Apart from soul or sense, And as undying passion rate Their tepid preference, Love is the wing that's sure to bring Back to the ark the dove. What all their wisdom? Ah, it is No substitute for love. And those who by ambition blind Would with a title wed, That, when they are not sore maligned, They may be envied, Heaven sends them pride wherewith to hide The loss they know not of -- To find -- too late, alas! -- there is No substitute for love. Then here's success to youth and maid Who hold in hopeful hands And weave together, unafraid, Life's old mysterious strands. "Love is enough" -- that is the stuff Fortune is fashioned of. To face the fickle world, there's naught To substitute for love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IRISH RAPPAREES; A PEASANT BALLAD OF 1691 by CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY LOOKING FORWARD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON RENEWAL by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD THE GROANS OF THE TANKARD by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE FIRST KISS AT PARTING by ROBERT BURNS GIRL BEFORE A SHRINE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |