If you don’t love my love, my dear

If you don’t love my love, my dear, It is not there. What you don’t love can never be A thought of mine, a part of me. And so, beware! For every smile and every tear Is born of hope and bred of fear; Only despair Is mine alone. And being mine Can blot your image, lock your shrine.

In the still dust beneath your feet I lie alone and incomplete, But you, Though you may pass me in disdain. Will know the all-fulfilling pain. And rue The burning love that, liking not, You fanned to flame and left to rot.

For it is not my love, my dear, Has died, But you; the glow-worms in your eyes, The singing echoes of your sighs That lied.

Where is the brightness of the glance That taught my secret thoughts to dance? Tell me Where is the music in your voice That made the nightingale rejoice? I see No more sweet hopes, no more sweet fears, You’ve lost your smiles, you’ve lost my tears. Yet how Deep in your soul by day and night My constant love gave warmth and light, With many a bitter blast it fought Blood of your heart, bone of your thought! And now My love you have extinguishèd And you, my dear, not I, are dead.