The Choice Poem by Jan Struther

Dear, if some god (lonely in Paradise
And jealous of my two-fold ecstasy)
Were to demand one half as sacrifice-
My love for you, or else your love for me:
O then I'd choose that you should need me less,
So my own body still for you might crave;
And all your passion, all your tenderness
I'd lose, my own heart's tenderness to save.
I'd sooner hear the ardour in your voice
Grow false and dull, than feel my own lips falter
On old endearments. This should be my choice,
If choice must be, to deck the high god's altar.
For to love, loveless, is a bitter pill:
But to be loved, unloving, bitterer still.