My love was an overly lavish
expenditure of emotion.
I’m sorry, I can’t accept this, she said.
Too extravagant, too soon.
And this, after she overwhelmed me
With her gifts.
My love was an overly lavish
expenditure of emotion.
I’m sorry, I can’t accept this, she said.
Too extravagant, too soon.
And this, after she overwhelmed me
With her gifts.
“For a man to be a poet he must be in love, or miserable.” – Lord Byron
I defy you, dear reader, to find one poem by a major poet — one poem — that celebrates lifelong monogamy. Hallmark anniversary cards do not count. Why is there such a yawning void when it comes poems addressing this subject? Perhaps because poets understand the transitory nature of love more fully than most. Poets celebrate love, not love’s longevity. Poetry will help you woo your woman, but after that… good luck.
Please understand, I support marriage, as I support modern civilization. That doesn’t mean it isn’t problematical for a whole host of reasons. And I’m not a complete cynic. When I see old couples dancing, it makes me believe. Couples can love each other, with mutual respect, with rewarding emotional initimacy and affection, for many years. But love — passion and giddiness — you’re not going to retain. The best you can hope for is a warm glow that flares up now and again on rare occasions — and that’s if you’re compatible and properly devoted.
But enough of what I think. Let’s hear what Lord Byron has to say on the topic. He slept with quite a number of married women, so he knows what he’s talking about. I give you two stanzas from Canto III, from his best work, Don Juan:
Coming soon… who is Petrarch?