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Stephen Vincent Benet - Portrait Of Young Love
Work rating: Low

If you were with me—as you`re not, of course,
I`d taste the elegant tortures of Despair
With a slow, languid, long-refining tongue;
Puzzle for days on one particular stare,
Or if you knew a word`s peculiar force,
Or what you looked like when you were quite young.

You`d lift me heaven-high—till a word grated.
Dash me hell-deep—oh that luxurious Pit,
Fatly -and well encushioned with self-pity,
Where Love`s an epicure not quickly sated!
What mournful musics wander over it,
Faint-blown from some long-lost celestial city!

Such bitter joyousness I`d have, and action,
Were you here—be no more the fool who broods
On true Adventure till he wakes her scorning—
But we`re too petty for such noble warning.
And I find just as perfect satisfaction
In analyzing these, and other moods!
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