There's little comfort in the wise

Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.

Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.

Stands the Church clock at ten to three? And is there honey still for tea?

Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.

And I shall find some girl perhaps, and a better one than you, With eyes as wise, but kindlier, and lips as soft, but true, and I dare say she will do.

Oh! death will find me long before I tire of watching you.