Revulsion
Though I waste watches framing words to fetterSome spirit to mine own in clasp and kiss,Out of the night there looms a sense ’twere betterTo fail obtaining whom one fails to miss.
For winning love we win the risk of losing,And losing love is as one’s life were riven;It cuts like contumely and keen ill-usingTo cede what was superfluously given.
Let me then feel no more the fateful thrillingThat devastates the love-worn wooer’s frame,The hot ado of fevered hopes, the chillingThat agonizes disappointed aim!So may I live no junctive law fulfilling,And my heart’s table bear no woman’s name.
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