Love Song
By Thomas Nelson Page
Love’s for Youth, and not for Age, E’en though Age should wear a crown, For the Poet, not the Sage; Not the Monarch, but the Clown.
Love’s for Peace, and not for War, E’en though War bring all renown; For the Violet, not the Star; For the Meadow, not the Town.
Love’s for lads and Love’s for maids, Courts a smile and flies a frown; Love’s for Love, and saucy jades Love Love most when Love has flown.
Love a cruel tyrant is: Slays his victims with a glance, Straight recovers with a kiss, But to slay again, perchance.
Wouldst thou know where Love doth bide? Whence his sharpest arrows fly? In a dimple Love may hide, Or the ambush of an eye.
Wert thou clad in triple mail, In a desert far apart, Not a whit would this avail; Love would find and pierce thy heart.
