There is no second love like this:
For there is something that we miss
In second love, however true:
And this it is, the first was new.
And I could die for her, and she
Could smile in death to die for me:
But hearts are frozen, old, and grey,
When passion burns itself away.
And second love is not the same:
It is as though the heat and flame
Should glow and sparkle in the fire
Where wasted ashes now expire.
The lips are cold, the lips we kiss:
It is the fresh delight we miss
In second love: the first was new,
And was and is for ever true.
