Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Love is Passing

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For other versions of this work, see Love is Passing.

LOVE IS PASSING

LOVE is passing through the street.
Love, imperishably sweet,
On his silver-sandaled feet
Draweth near.


Suppliant he came of yore,—
Comes he now as conqueror?
Will he, pausing at my door,
Enter here?


Once his lips were ruby-red,
And his wings like gold, outspread,
And the roses crowned his head,
As in story;


And though these he now disguise,
Ever a lost paradise
In the azure of his eyes
Keeps its glory.


Love is passing through the street—
Love, imperishably sweet,
And were death our way to meet,
I would dare it.


Come he suppliant, as before,
Come he as a conqueror,—
So he turn not from my door,
I can bear it!