For Love Is What the Angels Call Dismay
for love is what the angels call dismay
knowing not the longings of the heart
nor can they comprehend that endless day
on which these quite strange feelings had their start
for men, it seems, these feeling try to hide
beneath the stony face of stoic’s lie
such tenderness, such joy, they can’t abide
they let love drift away in lonely sigh
they cannot stoop and pick such lovely blooms
remove them from the beauty of their place
their empty hearts but the distant tombs
of loves no other lovers can replace
they cannot squander this in feigned display
for love is what the angels call dismay
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