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Edith Nesbit - The Husband Of To-Day
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EYES caught by beauty, fancy by eyes caught; 
    Sweet possibilities, question, and wonder-- 
What did her smile say? What has her brain thought? 
    Her standard, what? Am I o`er it or under? 
        Flutter in meeting--in absence dreaming; 
        Tremor in greeting--for meeting scheming; 
Caught by the senses, and yet all through 
True with the heart of me, sweetheart, to you. 


Only the brute in me yields to the pressure 
    Of longings inherent--of vices acquired; 
All this, my darling, is folly--not pleasure, 
    Only my fancy--not soul--has been fired. 
        Sense thrills exalted, thrills to love-madness; 
        Fancy grown sad becomes almost love-sadness; 
And yet love has with it nothing to do, 
Love is fast fettered, sweetheart, to you. 


Lacking fresh fancies, time flags--grows wingless; 
    Life without folly would fail--fall flat; 
But the love that lights life, and makes death`s self stingless-- 
    You, and you only, have wakened that. 
        Sweet are all women, you are the best of them; 
        You are so dear because dear are the rest of them; 
        After each fancy has sprung, grown, and died, 
        Back I come ever, dear, to your side. 
The strongest of passions--in joy--seeks the new, 
But in grief I turn ever, sweetheart, to you.
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