Love, that in my mind seeks Reason’s aid. Paraphrase.
I crave not love, for it would only bring
Tears to your eyes, and anguish to your heart;
I am in Autumn, you are still in Spring,
And you must linger after I depart.
Then to you Summer would scarce Summer be,
Vainly for you the roses bloom and climb,
Vainly Life’s harvest ripen on the tree,
Withered by Winter long before its time.
Therefore, let loving, dear, be mine alone,
You yielding only tenderness and trust,
So that to you be widowhood unknown,
And you with tears not deify my dust.
Enough for me if in your voice, your eyes,
I dream of bliss, but strain not for the prize.