Richard Watson Gilder

The New Day. Part 4. 15. “O, Love Is Not a Summer Mood”

O, love is not a summer mood,
⁠     Nor flying phantom of the brain,
Nor youthful fever of the blood,
          ⁠Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance.
          ⁠Love is not born of blinded chance,
          ⁠Nor bred in simple ignorance.

Love is the flower of maidenhood;
⁠     Love is the fruit of mortal pain;
And she hath winter in her blood.
⁠          True love is stedfast as the skies,
⁠          And once alight she never flies;
⁠          And love is strong, and love is wise.