What is love, just a resemblance of rage?

What is love, but a line of poetry?

I believe it not to be found on page,

For 'tis love which has forced me to my knee.

'Tis love also, who strikes me to the ground

And leaves me to lay here forever more,

If death not by a heart shattered, by hound

As I cannot move with a heart so sore.

But, as this delicate rage comes to me

I can find no escape from this emotion

Though I so intensely wish myself free

Without it, I am lost in this ocean.

What is love, but a rabid beast?

What is love? 'Twill come to know my heart least.