On Love Poem by Andrew Benton

Minstrels and jollies have sung songs of love—
Have discoursed on fate's tempered offering—
Yet silent crows spiral slowly above
With more joy than man's love can hope to bring.

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.

Love's face is as clean as the scoundrel's sword,
With less life perhaps than it's fearful bite—
Her nature by darkness is best explored,
best spoken by tongues in transparent light.

True spoke the beggar to proud hearts of men:
'Beautiful day when love may not have been.'