Love is a desultory fire,
Blown by a wind made musical with sighs,
A void and wonderfully vague desire,
Which comes and flies.
Of once-sown seed, who knoweth what the crop is?
Alas! my love, Love’s eyes are very blind!
What would they have us do? sun-flowers and poppies
Stoop to the wind.
(Oliver Madox Brown)
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