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Edith Nesbit - Love`s Suicide
Work rating: Low

Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle.

THIS treasure of love, these passion-flowers, 
    Dear as desire, are dearly bought: 
The sweet unrest of seeing you 
For some too-happy hour or two, 
Is paid by such a wealth of tears, 
Such grief, such bitterness, such fears, 
Such wild remorse, such weak regret, 
Such tide of longing towards you set, 
As poison all my other hours, 
    And murder every other thought. 


I cannot drink joy steeped in fears, 
    I choose the cold unhurtful days; 
The roses you hold out to me 
Are red and sweet enough to be 
A crown one would so gladly wear 
If but one`s brows were strong to bear 
The weight, and did not ache and ache 
For the fair coronation`s sake, 
And dread of coming crownless years 
    When tired feet shall tread thorny ways. 


There is a peace in sombre skies 
    Where no sun even tries to shine, 
But not in these where transient glow, 
And passionate bursts of sunshine show 
Only life`s dull fields drenched with rain, 
And then the clouds set fast again 
Into a leaden sky like this is, 
Lit by no lightnings of warm kisses, 
Whence, while I look into your eyes, 
    A thunderbolt may fall on mine. 


I give you back the rose I stole, 
    Pluck but pale leaves that near me grow. 
I cannot love with half a heart, 
`Tis all or nothing for my part; 
And since the all may not be ours, 
Since we may only pluck Love`s flowers, 
But may not in his temple stay, 
I choose the grey and lonely way-- 
And you--be thankful from your soul 
    That, loving you, I let you go.
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