This Side of Love

'Tis not all it can be, but a gorgeous thing is love -

My words describe no any other way,

than blandly; leaves a poet all to feel and none to say

How could such a thing be not sent from above?

'Tis not all it can do, but quite courteous can be love

That mirthfully relinquishes the day

Unshaken, howbeit scorn drenched rain, the bedside no one lay

But my maladroit heart chosen to do love

Perhaps 'tis heaven's power,

To make mortals seek for grace,

With bleeding heart upon an empty hand;

But love still seizes hours,

Howbeit cruel on its face,

Leaving  living lover's dying hours, grand