Picture Show (Sassoon collection)/The Imperfect Lover

by Siegfried Sassoon

THE IMPERFECT LOVER

 

I never asked you to be perfect—did I?—Though often I've called you sweet, in the invasionOf mastering love. I never prayed that youMight stand, unsoiled, angelic and inhuman,Pointing the way toward Sainthood like a sign-post.

Oh yes, I know the way to heaven was easy.We found the little kingdom of our passionThat all can share who walk the road of lovers.In wild and secret happiness we stumbled;And gods and demons clamoured in our senses.

But I've grown thoughtful now. And you have lostYour early-morning freshness of surpriseAt being so utterly mine: you've learned to fearThe gloomy, stricken places in my soul,And the occasional ghosts that haunt my gaze.

You made me glad; and I can still returnTo you, the haven of my lonely pride:But I am sworn to murder those illusionsThat blossom from desire with desperate beauty:And there shall be no falsehood in our failure;Since, if we loved like beasts, the thing is done,And I'll not hide it, though our heaven be hell.

You dream long liturgies of our devotion.Yet, in my heart, I dread our love's destruction,But, should you grow to hateyou grow to hate me, I would askNo mercy of your mood: I'd have you standAnd look me in the eyes, and laugh, and smite me.

Then I should know, at least, that truth endured,Though love had died of wounds. And you could leave meUnvanquished in my atmosphere of devils.