Love is not for Cowards, Oh dear mind!
For Love burns hotter than a Furnace of Gold, Wherein the Heart is cast alive
To prove what Spirits dare behold.
He who would Love must yield his Breast, And place his Joy in another's Hand;
He gives forth his Living Fire,
Nor knoweth where the Ashes stand.
The humble - Soul counts Loss and Gain,
And selleth Affection by the Pound;
But Love walks naked through the Storm,
Its Feet upon prophetic soaked Ground.
Now all Things are made cheap and swift,
The Friend discarded, the Vow unmade;
Each Mortal traded for another,
As Leaves that wither in the Shade.
Yet Love remains a dreadful Light,
A Star no prudent Eye can bear;
For Love demands the Whole of Man,
And leaves no Chamber locked in dispair.
Therefore the Coward shuns the stars,
And builds his Kingdom out of sand;
But they who dare the Wound of Love
Are crowned in Sorrow, Faith, and Trust.
Love is not for Cowards, oh it never was
It is the Gate through which the Soul
Must pass, though trechery guard the Way And Thunders round its Pillars roll.
Walk thou without Fear, Oh wondering Soul,
And leave no Mark upon the Clay;
For they who scatter Bread-crumb Paths
Have never wholly lost their Way.
They love with one Eye on Return,
And keep a Garment clean from Scar;
But real Love demands the Traveller's All,
Though Night conceal the guiding Star.
Go forth, and let the Bridges burn,
Nor count the Cost of what may fall;
For only they who risk the Wound
Have truly learned the Heart's great Call.