pessimism

Soon or late love is his own avenger.

Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll--
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance!--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence, with thy soul.

Love has no thought of self!
Love buys not with the ruthless usurer's gold
The loathsome prostitution of a hand
Without a heart! Love sacrifices all things
To bless the thing it loves!

I have heard of reasons manifold
Why love must needs be blind,
But this is the best of all I hold--
His eyes are in his mind.

Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth,
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny, and youth is vain;
And to be wrothe with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.