Because I am strangely attracted to love,
Not as attempts by whim or fancy,
But purely tender as the eternal dove:
The light of the other the light by which I see,
You may note me smiling as if in pain,
Or hear my laughter sounding like tears;
For when does love ever rest upon the plain,
Or gaze straight into a face for years?
There is much to consider when the beautiful
Sink to their knees and wish to die.
Weeping and ashamed, I told the philosophical:
Because I cry too much, I cry.
