oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!

i will not gainsay love, called love forsooth:

i have heard love talked in my early youth,

and since, not so long back but that the flowers

then gathered, smell still. mussulmans and giaours

throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth

for any weeping. polypheme’s white tooth

slips on the nut if, after frequent showers,

the shell is over-smooth,—and not so much

will turn the thing called love, aside to hate

or else to oblivion. but thou art not such

a lover, my belov?d! thou canst wait

through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch,

and think it soon when others cry “too late.”