THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 31. TO ONE WHO LOVED HIM by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT

I cannot love you, love, as you love me,
In singleness of soul, and faith untried:
I have no faith in any destiny,
In any Heaven, even at your side.
Our hearts are all too weak, the world too wide,
You but a woman. If I dare to give
Some thought, some tenderness, a little pride,
A little love, 'tis yours, love, to receive.
And do not grieve, though now the gift appear
A drop to your love's ocean. Time shall see.
—Oh, I could prophesy:—That day is sure,
Though not perhaps this week, nor month, nor year,
When your great love shall clean forgotten be,
And my poor tenderness shall yet endure.
'Tis not the trees that make the tallest show,
Which stand out stoutest when the tempests blow.

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