The thing that ever hurts,
Beyond all compare,
That blasphemes against Heart,
Stokes - a little tear,

"Don't talk to me of Love,"
Thus slander - slay a babe,
To Love is Human, I do it well,
Could do it for an age,

It strikes me that you esteem me,
As less than Human now,
Because to Love is Human, I do it well,
But you'd rather the tallest tree to fell,

And condemn me straight to hell,
The righteous mind appalled
You can't be half as passionate,
As rumbunctious and wild,

As you are half-pretending,
If you **** the sparks of Love,
You took aim, intent to maim,
A gift from God of turtle dove.