Love’s for Youth, and not for Age,
E’en though Age should wear a crown,
For the Poet, not the Sage;
Not the Monarch, but the Clown.
Love’s for Peace, and not for War,
E’en though War bring all renown;
For the Violet, not the Star;
For the Meadow, not the Town.
Love’s for lads and Love’s for maids,
Courts a smile and flies a frown;
Love’s for Love, and saucy jades
Love Love most when Love has flown.
Love a cruel tyrant is:
Slays his victims with a glance,
Straight recovers with a kiss,
But to slay again, perchance.
Wouldst thou know where Love doth bide?
Whence his sharpest arrows fly?
In a dimple Love may hide,
Or the ambush of an eye.
Wert thou clad in triple mail,
In a desert far apart,
Not a whit would this avail;
Love would find and pierce thy heart.