Eleanor Farjeon

Sonnets. 3. Once, Love, be prodigal, nor look hereafter

Once, Love, be prodigal, nor look hereafter,
Not though experience unrolls the years
And bids thee count the cost of golden laughter
In the dull coinage of leaden tears.
O perjured wisdom! half-truth hedged with lies!
That makes a common stake of joy and pain,
When tears are man’s most mortal certainties
And every instant’s joy his heavenly gain.

Ah, mystery that sowed our breath and being,
What harvest wilt thou get of untilled powers?
Why didst thou give us sight if not for seeing?
Why if we dare not hear make hearing ours?
Or why in life’s name this high passion of love
But in life’s name its passionate height to prove?