Composed In Amusement Poem by Andrew Benton

What thought but love, the evening star which
guides struck jollies past huddled masses on
Neptune’s plain, so worthy as a niche
ignored, shines so bright as the summer dawn?

What fate but love, which cuts the crimson string
within the chest of beggars poor,
can mend yet outward springs of faulty
humility in greater than these?

Love without reason is love not, but hate,
just as with no truth a friend is a fiend;
love without patience all joy shall abate,
no matter how true its pretense may seem.

As dawn’s raw light breaks over heads
in long-secluded valleys dim,
Apollo’s love is lost upon
the hearts which ne’er remember him.

I fear the day, for want of time,
when billows on the lighted plain,
adrift in wonder at the sight
of those from who from envy dare abstain,

rise up against all feral bonds
which restrict out mortal mirth—
ever passive, never passing,
after stunning fleeting mirth.