Chapter IV: Part I: Love

A glance,--a thought,--a blow,--
It stings him to the core.
A question--will it lay him low?
Or will time heal it o'er?

He kindles at the name,--
He sits, and thinks apart;
Time blows and blows it to a flame,--
Burning within his heart.

He loves it though it burns,
And nurses it with care:
He feeds the blissful pain, by turns,
With hope, and with despair!