A Love Story
You are the fire
I am the ice.
They say we don't match.
But we don't think twice.
It won't suffice,
To stop us touch.
Your enchanting pleas.
Won't let me be.
All on my own.
They invite me closer.
And I fall for.
I call toward thee.
My echo roars,
Your whole new world.
Of ardent desires.
I frost thy blood
That runs through your veins.
I can't stop the fiery burning.
It does not quench me.
Makes me more thirsty…
I can't explain.
You burn my heart
With the fiery darts.
That tear apart
My mortal being.
They amiably hurt me.
Make me want more.
I break thy bones.
You scorch my skin.
I do not know what to expect next.
But a beautiful, pristine feeling,
Already is born.
Starts to have meaning,
We call it simply,
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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Walter de la Mare
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)