A woman asks me,
That’s why I speak
Of an accident that
Is often bold and
Awe-inspiring and it’s
Called love: those who
Deny it, hear the truth
Presently, knowing,
I have no hope of
Reasoning with base hearted
People without practical demonstration:
Nor, do I have
The talent to prove
Where it lives, who
Created it, what its
Virtue is, its potency
And essence, what its
Movements are, the pleasure
That makes a person
Say, love, and if
A person, seeing, can
Motion toward it.
Love was established
In that place where
Memory is and is
Formed like a veil
Light. It comes from
The darkness where
Mars is and remains,
Is created there and
Has a sensate name.
From soul has form,
From heart, will. Comes
From seen form and
Intends, in possible intellect,
Like in a subject,
Place and location, but
It has no weight
Because it doesn’t descend
From quality: resplendent in
Its perpetual effects; takes
No delight except in
Consideration; it doesn’t scatter
Its likeness about. It
Is not virtue, but
From there it comes, which
Is perfection. So established,
Not rational, but through
Feeling, I say; beyond
Well-being, maintaining justice;
Values intention for reason’s
Sake: poor in discernment,
It is vice’s friend.
From its power death
Often follows; it is
Strong where virtue opposes
It, thus, it runs
Counter to the way:
Not because it opposes
Nature’s course, but twisted
Away from perfection by
Fate; no one can
Say, once established,
Its grace and likewise,
Its value, though people
Forget.
Love comes to be
When will is great.
From nature’s measure it
Turns, never adorning itself
With rest. Moves, changes
Color, laughing through tears,
Contorts the face with
Fear; rarely resting, you’ll
Find it most in
People of courage; its
Strange quality moves one
To sighing and makes
One stare in to formless
Space, arousing there
A quality that moves a
Flame, (no one can
Imagine it that hasn’t
Experienced it), it doesn’t
Move, yet draws all
Toward it and it
Doesn’t turn about looking
To play games: nor,
Searching for things great
Or small. From similarity
It draws a glance that
Makes pleasure appear
Certain: nor, can
It be hidden when
It’s joined. Not wild,
But beauty’s arrow; desire,
Through fear, is perfected:
Following merit, spirit’s arrow.
It can’t be known
From the face. Comprised
Of whiteness fallen upon
Objects; listening deep, form
Unseen: following from what
Proceeds. Outside of color,
Divided being amidst darkness.
Spreading light. Beyond falsity.
Worthy of faith, I say.
Only from it…is
Mercy born.
You can, surely, go
Song wherever you please,
I have adorned you
So much, your reasoning
Will be understood by
Those who want to
Understand: and to stay
With the others you
no desire.
