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

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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!