THE love of man and woman is as fire, To warm, to light, but surely to consume And self-consuming die. There is no room For constancy and passionate desire. We stand at last beside a wasted pyre, Touch its dead embers, groping in the gloom; And where an altar stood, erect a tomb, And sing a requiem to a broken lyre. But comrade-love is as a welding blast Of candid flame and ardent temperature: Glowing most fervent, it doth bind more fast; And melting both, but makes the union sure. The dross alone is burnt -- till at the last The steel, if cold, is one, and strong and pure. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RETALIATION by OLIVER GOLDSMITH THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTER by MATHILDE BLIND VISION by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES SMATTERERS by SAMUEL BUTLER (1612-1680) ECLOGUE THE THIRD; A MAN, A WOMAN, SIR ROGER by THOMAS CHATTERTON LENVOY DE CHAUCER A SCOGAN by GEOFFREY CHAUCER THE BOROUGH: LETTER 17. THE HOSPITAL AND GOVERNORS by GEORGE CRABBE |