Poems (Greenwell)/Love
For works with similar titles, see Love.
LOVE.
O Love, thou goodly child, Though not its own, the World makes much of Thee! Thou mindest me of him, from out the wild Bulrushes drawn, and at a royal knee Brought up with songs and nurtured tenderly. Sweet songs are sung to thee, yet thou dost sing Far sweeter back, because the mystic bee Hives ever on thy lips, and Egypt's king And courtiers, failing of thy company, Would wearier grow of all their pageantry Than infants of their toys that for the moon Cry out. Yet thou thyself dost weary soon Of Egypt's hollow show, and being grown To thy full stature wilt no more disown Thy country and thy brethren; thou wilt turn To share their task-work, yet wilt not unlearn The precious lore of Egypt; and the songs That Pharaoh's daughter taught thee wilt recall Full sweetly on thy harp of many strings—Thou needest them, to plead thy people's wrongs Thy Master yet may send thee before Kings!