War and Love/Gain

by Richard Aldington

 

GAIN

Let not the jesting bitter godsWho sit so goldenly aloof from usMock us too deeply,Let them not boast they hold aloneThe reins of pleasure, the delight of lust—We that are but air and dustMoistening that dust a little with old wineAnd kindling the air with fire and loveHave burned an hour or two with blossoming pangs,And, leaning on soft breasts made keen with loveAnd murmuring fierce words of rending bliss,Have gathered turn by turn unto our lipsThe twin wild roses of delight,The quickflower-flames that sear into the soulSharp wounds of pleasure and extreme desire.