LOVE is a thing of frail and delicate growth; Soon checked, soon fostered; feeble, and yet strong: It will endure much, suffer long, and bear What would weigh down an angel's wing to earth, And yet mount heavenward; but not the less It dieth of a word, a look, a thought; And when it dies, it dies without a sign To tell how fair it was in happier hours: It leaves behind reproaches and regrets, And bitterness within affection's well, For which there is no healing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 8 by EZRA POUND LAST WORDS TO A DUMB FRIEND by THOMAS HARDY A CAROL CLOSING SIXTY-NINE by WALT WHITMAN ON THE EPHEMERALNESS OF BEAUTY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE MENU by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A BALLADE OF OTHER IDOLS by LEONARD BACON (1887-1954) |