On the Nature of Love
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
1840 to 1922
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You ask my love. What shall my love then be?
A hope, an aspiration, a desire?
The soul’s eternal charter writ in fire
Upon the earth, heavens, and the sea?
You ask my love. carnal mystery
Of a soft hand, of finger-tips press,
Of eyes that kindle and of lips kiss,
Of sweet things known to thee and thee?
You ask my love. What love can more sweet
Than hope or pleasure? Yet we in vain.
The soul is more than joy, life than meat.
The sweetest love of all love in pain,
And that I will not give. So let it be.
—Nay, give me any love, so it be love of thee.
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