Love is not merely a meadow on a summer’s day
Nor a rainbow after the thunderstorm;
Love has deserts of burning sand,
Jagged mountains with cliffs and abysses:
Love knows all extremes and demands the uttermost.
The landscape of love is as varied as the Earth itself,
And contains more than the Earth can hold.
Its treasures and its beauties,
Its horrors and its dangers,
Its kindnesses and cruelties
Are magnificent and terrible,
For Love has the power to destroy
As well as to create.
The paths of Love are steep
And filled with flinty stones
Overgrown with briars, roses tangled with thorns.
Love is the gruelling race
As well as the laurel wreath,
As well as the victory feast,
As well as the molten gold.