Sonnet 08

 Oh, love of woman, you are known to be 
A passion sent to plague the hearts of men; 
For every one you bring felicity 
Bringing rebuffs and wretchedness to ten. 
I have been oft where human life sold cheap 
And seen men's brains spilled out about their ears 
And yet that never cost me any sleep; 
I lived untroubled and I shed no tears. 
Fools prate how war is an atrocious thing; 
I always knew that nothing it implied 
Equalled the agony of suffering 
Of him who loves and loves unsatisfied. 
War is a refuge to a heart like this; 
Love only tells it what true torture is.

Form: Sonnet

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