WHO loves the mortal creature, ending there, is no more free—he has given himself away to Death— For him the slimy black Form lies in wait at every turn, befouling the universe; Yet he who loves must love the mortal, and he who would love perfectly must be free: [Love—glorious though it be—is a disease as long as it destroys or even impairs the freedom of the soul.] Therefore if thou wouldst love, withdraw thyself from love: Make it thy slave, and all the miracles of nature shall lie in the palm of thy hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEW APOCRYPHA: THE FIG TREE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS I LOVE ALL BEAUTEOUS THINGS by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THE RIDDLERS by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING, WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES SUICIDE IN THE TRENCHES by SIEGFRIED SASSOON AS I SIT WRITING HERE by WALT WHITMAN EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 17. THE DIFFICULT ADVENTURE by PHILIP AYRES |