He who hath never been in love
Hath half his powers still to prove.
He knoweth not how keen to see
His love-enlightened eyes may be,
How gay his wit, how bright his tongue,
His soul how strong, his heart how young.
He who hath never been in love
Hath half his folly still to prove.
He knoweth not the silliness
His tongue is able to express,
What jealousy, what license bold,
What pettiness, his heart may hold.
He who hath never been in love,
Hath half his delights are still to prove.
He knoweth not the subtle charm
Of tender hand, of clasping arm,
Nor half the joys that leap and start
From woman's eyes and mouth and heart.
He who hath never been in love
Hath half his torments still to prove.
He knoweth not what frets absurd
Uncoil from careless look and word,
Nor how his peace may be undone
Before two wills are bound in one.
He who hath never been in love,—
How to the dullard can I prove
That all the folly lovers show
Is naught to that new power they know,
And all the torments that annoy
Are merest motes within their joy?
