Love, who makes false logicians of us all, Bidding us see perfection where none is, Confusing truth and beauty with a kiss That builds new innocence from virtue's fall; Lest the quick mind disdain the sense's call And hardily, by strict analysis, Arrive betimes at a true synthesis, You blind its eye and make it, too, your thrall. Lost in the ecstasy of touch delayed, Grateful before a kindness long deferred, The grieving flesh is comforted and stayed, The heavy heart is born a singing bird. Mad Love, though it must perish in the hour, Let radiance lie upon this mortal flower. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE IMPORTANCE OF GREEN by JAMES GALVIN SHALL I SAY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FOR THE NEW YEAR by EDWIN MARKHAM |