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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXXI
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TO ONE WHO LOVED HIM
 I cannot love you, love, as you love me,
 In singleness of soul, and faith untried:
 I have no faith in any destiny,
 In any Heaven, even at your side.
 Our hearts are all too weak, the world too wide,
 You but a woman. If I dare to give
 Some thought, some tenderness, a little pride,
 A little love, `tis yours, love, to receive.
 And do not grieve, though now the gift appear
 A drop to your love`s ocean. Time shall see.
 --Oh, I could prophesy:--That day is sure,
 Though not perhaps this week, nor month, nor year,
 When your great love shall clean forgotten be,
 And my poor tenderness shall yet endure.
 `Tis not the trees that make the tallest show,
 Which stand out stoutest when the tempests blow.
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