Not Love, not Love, that worn and footsore thrall Who, crowned with withered buds and leaves gone dry, Plods in his chains to follow one passed by, Guerdoned with only tears himself lets fall. Love is asleep and smiling in his pall, And this that wears his shape and will not die Was once his comrade shadow, Memory-- His shadow that now stands for him in all. And there are those who, hurrying on past reach, See the dim follower and laugh, content, "Lo, Love pursues me, go where'er I will!" Yet, longer gazing, some may half beseech, "This must be Love that wears his features still: Or else when was the moment that Love went?" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOOKS AND EYES by KAREN SWENSON MOTHER'S LOVE by THOMAS BURBIDGE ON THE DAY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON CLORINDA AND DAMON by ANDREW MARVELL EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 33. LOVE KEEPS ALL THINGS IN ORDER by PHILIP AYRES |