XXV
I would there were another name for love,
A name that did not tell such tales of pain,
Like a cracked tell that rings with broken dreams
And little hopes that lived and died in vain.
A name that did not tell such tales of pain,
Like a cracked tell that rings with broken dreams
And little hopes that lived and died in vain.
I would there were another name for love,
That did not tell of passions' breakages,
And all the murdered beauties of the spring
And all the lost illusions of the ages.
That did not tell of passions' breakages,
And all the murdered beauties of the spring
And all the lost illusions of the ages.
I would there were another name for love,
An empty name unstained with prying eyes,
And pirate lips, and prowling certainties,
The plundered loot of a lost paradise.
An empty name unstained with prying eyes,
And pirate lips, and prowling certainties,
The plundered loot of a lost paradise.
I would there were another name for love,
An untouched name, where crumpled innocence,
Scorched by the hot indifference of lust,
Had not been branded by impermanence.
An untouched name, where crumpled innocence,
Scorched by the hot indifference of lust,
Had not been branded by impermanence.
I would there were another name for love,
A timid name, aquiver and unsure,
A name for which no captain ever fought,
A name unknown to any troubadour.
A timid name, aquiver and unsure,
A name for which no captain ever fought,
A name unknown to any troubadour.
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