A Love Without a Name

Love is not Time’s fool, yet Time has fooled me well,

And laughed through every promise it once made;

It cheered me on, then taught my heart to dwell

Where every joy is shadowed, every hope decayed.

I cannot love thee freely, without fear,

Nor purely, for my passion burns with grief;

I love with all the sorrows held most dear,

That wake each night the wounds denied relief.

Nor am I as the flower that dares to bloom,

For mine keeps sacred light where none may see;

A secret too profound to yield its perfume,

Too tender, torn, and painful to be free.

I looked within my heart, as he bade me write;

My Muse then whispered, “Tis too wounded for the light.”