A Lover's Confession

When people tell me they have loved
    But once in youth,
I wonder, are they always moved
    To speak the truth?

Not that they wilfully deceive:
    They fondly cherish
A constancy which they would grieve
    To think might perish.

They cherish it until they think
    'Twas always theirs.
So, if the truth they sometimes blink,
    'Tis unawares.

Yet unawares, I must profess,
    They do deceive
Themselves, and those who questionless
    Their tale believe.

For I have loved, I freely own,
    A score of times,
And woven, out of love alone,
    A hundred rhymes.

Boys will be fickle.    Yet, when all
    Is said and done,
I was not one whom you could call
    A flirt--not one

Of those who into three or four
    Their hearts divide.
My queens came singly to the door,
    Not side by side.

Each, while she reigned, possessed alone
    My spirit loyal,
Then left an undisputed throne
    To one more royal,

To one more fair in form and face
    Sweeter and stronger,
Who filled the throne with truer grace,
    And filled it longer.

So, love by love, they came and passed,
    These loves of mine,
And each one brighter than the last
    Their lights did shine.

Until--but am I not too free,
    Most courteous stranger,
With secrets which belong to me?
    There is a danger.

Until, I say, the perfect love,
    The last, the best,
Like flame descending from above,
    Kindled my breast,

Kindled my breast like ardent flame,
    With quenchless glow.
I knew not love until it came,
    But now I know.

You smile.    The twenty loves before
    Were each in turn,
You say, the final flame that o'er
    My soul should burn.

Smile on, my friend.    I will not say
    You have no reason;
But if the love I feel to-day
    Depart, 'tis treason!

If this depart, not once again
    Will I on paper
Declare the loves that waste and wane,
    Like some poor taper.

No, no!    This flame, I cannot doubt,
    Despite your laughter,
Will burn till Death shall put it out,
    And may be after.