Monday, December 22, 2008

From the '05 Files

Tenuiter Dilexit
By Thomas Banks

I would not have her, though
Hers was the offering;
It is of her I know
My love a common thing.

It is of her I learned
That even the brightest fire
May rise from refuse burned
Upon a reeking pyre.

I would have shared, I know,
Shores rounding living waters;
Sweet substance, but below?
The leech, and the leech’s daughters.

I would have given much;
Myself my present were.
But in return for such
Had asked twice more of her.

I would not have her now,
For both our sakes; for hers,
And pray she find somehow
What fortune she prefers.

And mine, for I have loved not
My own love’s offering;
The love that grace moved not,
A blind, unblessed thing.

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