Love is a Terrible Thing
Grace Fallow Norton
1876 to 1926
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I went out to the farthest meadow,
I lay in the deepest shadow;
And I said unto the earth, “Hold me,”
And unto the night, “O enfold me,”
And unto the wind petulantly
I cried, “You not for you are free!”
And I begged little leaves to lean
Low and together for a screen;
Then to the stars I told my tale:
“That is my home-light, there in the vale,
“And Ο, know that I shall return,
But let me lie mid the unfeeling fern.
“For there is a flame has blown too near,
And there is a name has grown too dear,
And there is a fear....”
And to the still hills and earth and far sky I made moan,
“The heart my bosom is not my own!
“O would I free as the wind on wing;
Love is a thing!”