Women have loved before as I love now;
At least, in lively chronicles of the past—
Of Irish waters by a Cornish prow
Or Trojan waters by a Spartan mast
Much to their cost invaded—here and there,
Hunting the amorous line, skimming the rest,
I find some woman bearing as I bear
Love like a burning city in the breast.
I think however that of all alive
I only in such utter, ancient way
Do suffer love; in me alone survive
The unregenerate passions of a day
When treacherous queens, with death upon the tread,
Heedless and willful, took their knights to bed.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
men have not yet served love as i do now;
at most, in courts of gilt with ivory cast—
of arabic sands ‘neath saracen brow
or black forest trees shading legions fast
little they vest invading—an heirs' affair,
or prey by candle and wine, winning no test,
i find there are no men wearing, as i wear
Love, the eternal city of my crest.
i know all living die once while alive
but i only this long sought after way
do reckon Love; my time sees goodness thrive
in limbs unparted by passionate sway
that quiets would-be kings their claims ahead
and keeps each knight afoot until they're dead.
robert daniel david ortiz