Jealousy Poem by Jan Struther

Love her better, if you must.
I, who did with open eyes
My precious only heart entrust
To the uncounted jeopardies
Of another's keeping,
Sought no hostage in return.
Therefore, though my senses ache
Dully, and my temples burn,
Have no fear-I will not make
Any noise of weeping.
Say her eyes, her lips are fairer
Far than mine; I'll bear the thrust.
Find her sweeter, hold her rarer,
Love her better, if you must:
But O! to comfort me in hell,
Do not like her quite so well.