Where is the equal of Love?
Where is the battle he cannot win?
The power he cannot outmatch?
In the farthest corners of the earth, in the midst of the sea,
He is there; he is here
In the bloom of a fair face
Lying in wait;
And the grip of his madness
Spares not god or man,
Marring the righteous man,
Driving his soul through mazes of sin
And strife, dividing a house.
For the fire that burns in the eyes of a bride
Is desire that consumes.
At the side of the great gods
Without mercy Aphrodite
Works her will on all.
Nor skin nor hide nor fleece
Shall cover you,
Nor curtain of crimson nor fine
Shelter of cedar-wood be over you,
Nor the fir-tree
Nor the pine.
Nor sight of whin nor gorse
Nor river-yew,
Nor fragrance of flowering-bush,
Nor wailing of reed-bird to waken you,
Nor of linnet,
Nor of thrush.
Nor word nor touch nor sight
Of lover, you
Shall long through the night but for this:
The roll of the full tide to cover you
Without question,
Without kiss.