Love
Truth went forth on a search one day
I For the source of love that he might say
He had found its depth and its breadth for aye.
He met a miser, bent and old,
And his mission to him he promptly told;
“Love,” said the miser, “is yellow gold.”
He sought a maiden, young and fair,
With orange blossoms in her hair,
Who whispered, “My love is waiting there.”
To a struggling youth at last Truth came,
As he toiled and studied and spoke his name;
“Love,” said the youth, “is a thing called fame.”
“Love!” mocked a man with features sour,
Before whom others were made to cower,
“Love! yes, love is worldly power.”
A pale, weak woman Truth chanced to see,
Rocking a baby on her knee;
“Only a mother knows love,” said she.